


If We Had a Hundred Years

by oldfashionedgrl



Category: Succession (TV 2018)
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-09
Updated: 2020-12-23
Packaged: 2021-03-05 19:48:55
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 12
Words: 28,743
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25810858
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/oldfashionedgrl/pseuds/oldfashionedgrl
Summary: Just another possible answer to the burning question: What exactly were Gerri and Roman up to during all those missing hours on the yacht?
Relationships: Gerri Kellman/Roman "Romulus" Roy
Comments: 73
Kudos: 119





	1. You Are Not Allowed To Scare Me Like That Ever Again

**Author's Note:**

> So like everyone in this fandom, I've been agonizing over what all was cut from "This Is Not for Tears" featuring our favorite Rock Star and Mole Woman. I started this to write two tiny scenes that wouldn't leave my mind, and it kind of blew up from there. I blame lontanissima for encouraging my insanity. I also gratefully thank her for her time, suggestions, encouragement, and for her skills as a "special consultant."

Roman had been on board barley more than half an hour. Enough time to for everyone to sit down and have a drink while he, Karl and Laird were peppered with questions about their ordeal. 

He’d spoken less than anyone. Which would surprise most people who knew him, but not Gerri. At face value, his antics came off as childish attention seeking, but when he’s actually on the receiving end of that kind of focus, he hates it, shuts down, squirms under the glare of the spotlight. What little he does say is merely a deflection. His biting sarcasm a weapon used to push people away. Anything to keep from revealing even a glimpse at his true feelings. 

As usual, it didn’t take long before the large crowd drifted apart, splintering up. She sits off to the side with Frank, Karl and Laird. Their group leaving the Roys and their respective partners the majority of the upper deck, but she can feel his gaze. It’s nearly a constant prickle on her skin. 

It takes every ounce of energy she can muster to keep her own glances toward him to the barest minimum. If she were honest with herself, and it seems she no longer has the luxury of not being honest with herself when it comes to him, the barest minimum she’s able to manage is vastly more than she would normally allow herself – more than she should allow herself. 

All she can focus on is him. Since the moment she’d heard he had been taken hostage images ran on a continuous loop in her mind. Images of men with guns, of people blindfolded and marched out of embassies, all the news footage she’d ever seen of hostage situations now featured his face.

She’d thought it would stop when he was safe, when he’d borrowed someone’s phone to call and tell her they’d been let go, that he was okay. She’d finally taken a deep breath after that call, but the relief lasted just moments. Intellectually she knew he was fine, but her mind would not stop showing her all the things that could have happened to him. All because she had set him on this mission to woo Asgarov and the billions his father controlled. 

As soon as he arrived, as soon as they were both in the same place breathing the same air, there had been a new level of intensity, a new biological imperative on equal footing with her need for oxygen, for her heart to keep beating, for her blood to keep pumping. She needed to be near him. Instead she’d joined in with the others quickly tossing out the first quip that popped into her head and immediately regretted it when she saw the look in his eyes, heard the brittle tone of his voice. Now she had another sin committed against him to add to her list. 

The conversation she’s supposed to be a part of consists of Laird’s pompous droning peppered with Karl’s overly dramatic asides and punctuated with occasional prompts from Frank for more details. When she can no longer even feign a modicum of interest, she excuses herself offering some feeble pretext. 

By the time she’s on the stairs, she has no memory of what she’d said to them and fleeting hopes it made some sort of sense. She doesn’t remember any odd looks. Probably they weren’t paying much attention. Everyone was tense, on edge, no one giving voice to the reasons they’re all here. 

As soon as she is away from everyone else, the tight control she’d been able to keep herself under evaporates. The muffled click of the cabin door sends her brimming over with pent up emotion, a swirl of residual fear, helplessness, frustration and unchecked anger. Anger at the people who think they have the right to hold human beings at gunpoint to serve their own ends, anger at Logan for dragging them all to the middle of the Adriatic to be another form of hostage, but mostly anger at herself for selfishly suggesting Roman as the one to go after dubious sovereign wealth from a tremendously dangerous source which could have very easily gotten him killed. 

As she whips the sunhat from her head flinging it in the general direction of the sofa under the long windows, there’s a knock at the door, a very familiar knock, accompanied by its simultaneous opening. She is momentarily frozen while he tentatively steps inside, shoulders hunched, eyes scanning the room looking for her. The moment their gazes lock, she’s in motion launching herself at him, wrapping her arms around his neck and sending him staggering backwards into the door as it closes behind him. 

Holding him, touching him, she finally feels the ache that had constricted her chest, permeated every fiber of her being, ease to some extent. Maybe now she can vanquish the nightmare that’s been haunting her for days. “You are not allowed to scare me like that ever again,” she spits out.

It’s such an uncharacteristic show of emotion from her, and Roman is stunned. Slowly, instinctively his arms lift to embrace her. The seconds tick by as they stand holding onto each other, Gerri clinging to him while his brain still struggles to catch up. He can feel tension permeating her body and short puffs of hot moist air against his neck. Clearly something is wrong, and he scrambles for what to do, what to say to make it better. He has nothing, ends up offering a cliched, “It’s okay.” 

Her rare lack of control brings in its wake an awkward, uncomfortable feeling, and she starts to pull back. Her quiet, “I’m sorry,” comes at the same moment as his attempted reassurance. 

He doesn’t let her move away though, just holds on tighter turning his face into her hair. She welcomes the contact, takes the time to try to settle herself more. After a few moments, she tries again. This time he lets her lean back a fraction, just enough so that he can see her face. 

“I’m so sorry.” She apologizes again, her voice cracking. She closes her eyes in an attempt to focus, concentrating on just breathing, trying to regain her composure, put the lid back on the emotions currently flying around the room. 

She’s finally here in his arms and he’s desperate for more, desperate for a deeper connection. He reaches his hand up to the side of her face, ghosts his thumb along her cheekbone and feels her breath hitch against him. 

Fuck him. She nearly had her shit under control. Why does he have to pick now of all times to be sweet? She screws her eyes closed tighter, reminds herself that now is not the time to fuck with the status quo. Not when the future is so uncertain. She feels the arches of her feet starting to cramp and realizes that she’s been balanced on her toes this whole time. Slowly sinking down against him, she hopes maybe this will help to ground her, but the thought is futile. There’s no ground beneath her bare feet, only plush carpet and the gentle rolling of the waves. They’re at sea both literally and figuratively.

He needs to see her eyes, needs to understand what is happening. He’s learned that Gerri’s eyes speak an entire language all their own. With a single look she has the ability to say more than some people do in a thousand words. Those magical eyes convey amusement, accusation, acceptance, animosity, anger, approbation, anxiety, approval, aggravation, apprehension, annoyance, affection, and those are just the As. 

He speaks softly, afraid of making any sudden moves, “Hey, look at me… please.” 

The please does it. She cannot say no to that voice, that expression she knows she’ll find on his perpetually stubbled and endearing face. She hasn’t quite figured out what the expression means, whether it’s good or bad, more than likely bad, but it goes straight to her core. It’s like most of the things he says to her, a jumble of seemingly unconnected thoughts spewed out at random, but there’s nothing random about the way he’s touching her face, it feels very deliberate and she doesn’t know what to do with the feelings he’s pulling out of her. 

Slowly her eyes open and the look he sees is a new one to add to his list. A battle rages between his heart and his head on exactly how to categorize this particular expression, but his heart has won control of his face and the shit-eating grin currently taking up residence there is the result. 

She can feel her cheeks burning as he stares at her and she ducks her head. This is too much, she’s too open, too vulnerable. The hand still on the side of her face urges her to meet his gaze again. As she does, she sees him leaning closer, knows he’s going to kiss her, and her brain can’t think of a single reason to stop him, can’t think of anything at all really. 

His approach is measured, calculated, still too afraid she’ll bolt away from him if he gives her any reason at all. 

Finally, their lips touch, just the barest graze then he brings his lips to hers a second time a fraction longer, a slightly different angle. Unbelievably, she’s still here in his arms, letting him kiss her. He goes for more pressure now, a real kiss, and she’s kissing him back, her hands curling into his shirt, her lips opening beneath his, a gentle tug on his lower lip. Tentatively he brings his tongue into play and feels her gently sucking it into her mouth. 

Roman Roy is a good kisser. Somehow in a corner of her mind that still has some measure of cognitive ability that thought surprises her, as does his gentle ending of their kiss. They’re both breathing heavily, and she can feel the effect it’s had on him pressing against her stomach. He’s smiling down at her, a genuine smile that lights up his eyes, and she senses her expression tentatively mirroring his.

“So… uh… that was nice,” His fingers tuck a stray lock of hair behind her ear.

“Mm hm,” she agrees, her smile widening, head spinning, grasping for something anything resembling reason.

“Wanna tell me what’s going on now?” 

“Not really,” she replies with a gentle affectionate smile. Her finely honed sense of self-preservation begins to kick in and doubt swims its way to the surface of her mind. Certainly a part of her recognized this was a possibility. He’d been buzzing around her for months. His need for domination merely the tip of the iceberg, but now that the moment of truth has arrived, she’s not at all sure that jumping off this particular cliff is something they should do. 

He regards her quietly for a moment, tries to divine what’s going on in her head his thumb drifting back and forth along her jaw. “Well then…” he nods his chin toward the bed behind her, lifts her hand from his chest and steps toward it. 

She chuckles at him, doesn’t move an inch. “Really? That’s your move?” 

“I’m not suggesting we just hop in the sack… well I am suggesting that, but not in the way you’re thinking.” He gets another soft chuckle and instantly craves more. “What a filthy mind you must have. Really. I’m shocked,” he mocks. That does it, gets more of a laugh from her and she’s beaming at him.

“Right. I’m the one with the filthy mind,” she counters finding comfort in their usual teasing banter. This is good. This feels familiar. Not the heady rush that being in his arms, that kissing him had brought. She might finally be getting her sea legs. 

He pulls her gently closer and this time she goes. “Hey, don’t play innocent with me. I know…” he lifts his free hand and wiggles his fingers in the direction of her temple, “there’s an endless stream of lascivious thoughts cascading through that fucking legal genius gray matter of yours.” 

“Mm hm. You think you know this, do you?” she questions, one brow perfectly arched. 

He can’t resist. Buoyed by her earlier reaction, he presses his lips against hers. This kiss is much less tentative on both their parts, more direct, more purposeful, reinforcing the bond they’ve just established. This time he earns a soft, barely perceptible, sound that’s some hybrid of a moan, a hum, and a sigh all combined. 

When they end the kiss, his expression is smug. “Gotta say, I’m really liking this.”

“Oh yeah?” she challenges falling back on her perfect deadpan delivery. 

“Yeah.” He wraps his arm around her waist, draws their joined hands up to his chest. “I’m beginning to rethink the whole not just hopping in bed with you plan.” 

“Easy there, sailor,” she brings her free hand up to his chest, pushes herself back gently. “You haven’t told me what the earlier plan was yet.” 

“Well… I haven’t really slept in like three days, and between the hearings and the flight over here, and whatever other Waystar fuckery is currently swirling beneath the surface, I’m guessing you haven’t either. I know you can’t sleep on a plane any better than I can.” 

“True…” she draws out the word cuing him to finish his explanation, surprised that he’s ever paid much attention to whether she sleeps on planes or not. 

“I was thinking…” he pauses, unsure of her reaction, his speech halting, “maybe we lie down and… uh…and try something crazy… like sleeping together.” 

Her heart constricts at his tentative delivery, at the hopeful look on his face. “I suppose I can concede the relative merits of this idea,” she acknowledges with a lopsided smirk. “But just for a little while.”

“Okay… good…” he really didn’t think she’d agree and he’s at a bit of a loss, “so… uh…” reluctantly he releases her and gestures to the bed, “ladies first. You have a favorite side?” 

Silently Gerri turns to the bed, removes the large overstuffed pillows and hands them to him, still baffled at how they’ve ended up here, how he’s managed to worm his way into her bed and more importantly into her heart. She can no longer deny that he has, but that doesn’t mean she understands any of it, doesn’t mean she knows what comes next, doesn’t mean she has the ability to devise a strategy to handle this. 

Still holding the pillows, he looks around the room. 

With bemused frustration at his inability to handle something as simple as pillows, she throws him a lifeline. “Oh, just put them over there,” she instructs pointing to the sofa under the windows then climbs up onto the bed while questioning the sanity of what she’s about to do.

Roman walks around the bed and tosses the pillows onto the couch. He turns to find her sitting in the middle of the bed knees pulled up to her chest. Quickly he walks back around the bed and flops down facing her sending the whole bed bouncing up and down. 

She’s startled. “Jesus Christ, what are you five?”

“No,” he draws out the word, makes it three syllables at least then props his head up on his hand and pats the pillows behind her. “Lie down. Relax. I won’t bite, unless of course you want me to,” he says flashing a mock leer. 

“You’re incorrigible,” she admonishes weakly. 

He laughs, “No shit.”

She removes her glasses setting them on the nightstand, sinks down against the pillows, and rolls onto her side facing him. “What are we doing?” 

“Taking a nap,” he states simply as he reaches out and cards his fingers through her hair smiling when she sighs and turns her head into his touch. 

He’s so tender and affectionate and she’s overcome with the thought that he could have easily been dead right now instead of lying here beside her making her feel all kinds of things she thought she’d never feel again. “Rome…” reaching up she stills his fingers brings their joined hands down to lie on the bed between them. “It was all my fault. I never should have sent you after that money. It was a bad idea from the start.” 

“No. It was a good idea,” he disagrees because it was a good idea, it was her idea, and it was an opportunity for him to show his father what he was capable of. 

She squeezes his hand, tries to convey her overwhelming guilt to him. “If anything had happened to you…” 

He cuts her off. “It didn’t.” 

“But it could have, and I’d never forgive myself.” 

“You had no way of knowing what was going to happen,” he argues on her behalf. She may be beating herself up over this, but he certainly isn’t going to join in. 

“I should have realized how dangerous–” Suddenly he’s kissing her again, leaning over her, pushing her head back into the softness of the pillows. Her mind reels, thoughts of what might have happened eclipsed by the feeling of him here now and what all this means. It’s seems the cliff she’d been contemplating earlier is looming above them and she’s already landed in the waters swirling below still assessing whether or not she’ll make it to the surface in one piece.

Slowly, he pulls back and sees the barest hint of a smile on her face. “I’m fine. Really. They didn’t harm a hair on my head. Here wanna check?” He angles the top of his head toward her. 

She bats him away. “That won’t be necessary.” 

He drops back down on the bed still facing her. “I won’t lie and tell you it was all sunshine and gumdrops. It fucking sucked. It was guys with automatic weapons and worrying if we were going to get shot or not, but we were held hostage in the Four Seasons for fuck sake. I think as hostage situations go it was pretty swank.” 

She reaches out and gently caresses the back of his hand, waits for him to continue.

“We survived. I don’t think they were ever really going to hurt anyone. It was just a fucking powerplay. You know I can handle those.” he assures her. “I learned from the best. Dad uses bullying and dangles Waystar as the ultimate brass ring for the little fucking monkeys to wrestle over. They used guns. That’s the only difference.” 

“Well that’s true enough.” His unique insights are still a revelation to her. Not as much of a revelation as this newfound addition to their many layered relationship. She was still struggling with what exactly they were. Family friend certainly didn’t fit anymore. Coworkers wasn’t nearly enough. Mentor and protégé? Some. She didn’t want to put too fine a point on their ‘special conference calls’ as he’d dubbed them. She’s not sure exactly how any of this fits into her vision of herself. 

He watches her for a moment. Her gaze intently studying him. “I can hear the wheels spinning in your head. Talk to me.”

Pulled out of her thoughts she deflects. “I thought we were supposed to be going to sleep.” 

“I’m not going to sleep until you do.”

“Wanna bet?” she immediately rises to the bait.

“Is that a challenge?” he questions that competitive glint in his eye mixed with something more predatory. 

She doesn’t have the energy for it. “No.”

He rolls onto his back and holds out his arm. “Okay, let’s try this.” She eyes him warily, unsure.  
“C’mere.” He waits a beat then adds, “Please.” 

That word again. That look. What the fuck? She’s already in this deep, what’s a little deeper? She relents, scoots over and rests against him, her ear just above his heart. His arm wraps around her, pulling her closer. The sound of his heartbeat is steady, reassuring beneath her. She begins drawing idol patterns across his chest while she tries to work the puzzle pieces of them into some sort of shape that makes sense. Then she feels his lips lightly press against the top of her head and linger there. 

Just as he closes his eyes, her hand stills against him. 

“Rome…” she says softly. 

His reply is more of a hum than any actual word, “Hummn.” 

“Why me?” Her voice is breathy and low, muffled by her position against him, her hand curling into his shirt. 

There’s a brief internal struggle as he stops himself from blurting out, ‘Because I love you.’ It’s still too early. He’s too afraid of her reaction. “God. Why would I ever want anyone else? You’re sexy as hell. You’re a fucking legal genius.” The reasons pour out of him. “Your boardroom maneuvers are Machiavellian. I told you before, you’re a stone cold killer bitch, what I didn’t tell you then was how incredibly fucking hot that is. You get me. I hope we get each other. I don’t know if I can explain it better than that.”

She’s floored by his answer, by its depth and breadth, by how much he seems to have actually thought this through. “That’ll work for now.” It does work, for now, plus she’s too tired to keep trying to figure it all out. He was right she hadn’t really slept in days.

He feels her body finally relax against his and closes his eyes. When he’d followed her downstairs, he just wanted a few minutes without everyone else there listening. He wanted her advice on what to tell his Dad about the money. He wanted to hear how she thought the hearings went. Really, he just wanted to be alone in a room with her. He feels her breathing even out and marvels at the fact that Gerri Kellman is curled against him, sleeping in his arms.


	2. Oh God, you’re going to be insufferable about all this, aren’t you?

It’s one of those times where a person goes from being completely asleep to wide awake in the space of a heartbeat, or at least it feels that way to Gerri when she opens her eyes and sees that the sun has moved to the other side of the boat. Her first thought is, “Holy fuck!” and it may not have been just a thought if judged by the muffled grunt coming from the body lying pressed against her back. 

Roman tightens his hold around her stomach and mumbles what might have been “Whasamatter,” into her hair. 

She tries lifting his arm, but he hangs on tighter. “Roman, it’s late. I don’t know how long we’ve been asleep.” Her voice is clipped, tension in her throat making it pitch higher than usual. “We can’t both disappear like this. One of us has to get up there and put in an appearance.”

His, “Why?” is still said into the back of her head, but he sounds a little more conscious now. 

She rolls her eyes through sheer force of habit even though he can’t see her face. “Because until we find out what the landscape is going to look like when your father gets here, we have to keep our cards close to the vest.” Gerri sits up and he lets his arm drop down against her lap. Quickly sliding off the bed she grabs her glasses, heads straight for the en suite, and closes the door. 

Sleepily he rolls over burying his face in her pillow, inhaling her scent with a smile. When she comes out, he cracks one eye open and watches her quickly gather whatever stuff she thinks she needs to make herself presentable only to duck back into the bathroom. She emerges again a few minutes later perfectly coifed wearing a blue top and white pants, sliding her arms into a floral print shirt. As she moves past him, he notices there’s a pattern cut down the outside of each leg, affording him teasing glimpses of the skin below. His focus is drawn to them, wondering if he could reach through and touch the skin of her thigh. 

She pauses her hurried movements and leans over the bed gently touching his shoulder as he rolls over. “You stay here, at least, I don’t know, 15-20 minutes. We just don’t need to reappear together, okay?”

Roman grasps her arm before she can move away. “Nobody’s paying any attention to us. They’re all too fucking caught up in their own shit storms.” 

“Be that as it may, I am going out there. We do not need to draw any undue attention to ourselves right now.” She catches his eyes as they drift down the front of her top. “Really?” she asks flatly. 

“Well, you put ‘em in my face, you really think I’m not gonna look?” He watches in amusement as she shakes her head but can’t completely hold back the smile that tugs at one corner of her mouth. Spotting his opening, what he reads as the weakening of her resolve, he pulls her down onto the bed. 

She lands half sitting on the bed and lying on top of him from the waist up. “How did I ever allow myself to get in–” she questions in exasperation before cutting herself off. 

Roman jumps in with unmasked glee. “Bed. You were gonna say in bed, weren’t you? Admit it.” 

“Fine. In bed. Are you happy now?”

“Very,” he answers on a laugh. 

“How did I ever allow myself to get in bed,” there’s that eyebrow again, “with the likes of you?” 

“It’s my raw animal magnetism. I really don’t know how I’ve fended you off for so long.” 

“I didn’t mean is as some sort of sick pun. When I started helping you, being in bed like this was the farthest thing from my mind.” 

He’s intrigued now. “So, tell me, what was on your mind?”

“Honestly, I don’t know,” she shrugs tries to put it into words. “It seemed like the right thing to do at the time.”

“Right for who?” he presses.

“For you. What do you think?” Realizing that sounded defensive, even to her own ears, she tries to explain. “I saw how you crashed and burned trying to help land the Pierce deal. I thought you could use a better mentor.”

“And that’s all?” He’s not buying it, not completely.

“What else would there be?” 

“Really?” he questions. “Because there was that moment in Hungary when you came to my room.” She has to remember. He remembers and he was fucking out of it.

“You mean when you were still so drunk from the night before you couldn’t even dress yourself?” she queries with a mildly judgy raised eyebrow. “What about it?” 

“You know.” She fucking has to know. “There was something.”

“Besides your half-assed joke about wanting to jump me?” A glimmer of mirth dances in her eyes at the recollection. 

“Who says it was a joke?” he almost demands trying to keep his voice from sounding as desperate as he feels. “And you felt something. Don’t deny it. You fucking felt something, and you got all weird for a minute. I may have been drunk or hungover or both, how the fuck do I know? But I do know you felt something.”

She takes a deep breath. Looks away for a moment then finds his eyes again conceding, “There may have been a moment, a frisson.”

“I knew it!” he crows pumping his fist in the air. 

She can’t stop the eyeroll or the mildly irritated tone in her voice. “Oh God, you’re going to be insufferable about all this, aren’t you?”

“Oh yeah,” he freely admits adding, “and what the fuck does frisson mean anyway? Is that one of your crossword puzzle words?’

“Look it up. I need to go.” She tries to squirm off of him, but he’s got those wiry arms of his locked around her. “Roman,” She warns him a stern quality seeping into her tone. She immediately sees the answering spark of arousal in his eyes.

“What?” he tries feigning innocence, but his voice is unsteady, that way he gets with her sometimes. 

She modulates her tone, pitches it softer, steers them into safer waters. “I am not getting into a wrestling match with you.” 

“Come on, ultimate cage match. Fight to the death?”” he teases, she can see the exact moment a suggestive quip pops into his head, “or better yet, le petit mort.”

“Proud of that one, are you?” as leading a question as she ever asked in her years a litigator. 

“Yeah.” He knows he’s about to be insulted, welcomes it. 

“You shouldn’t be.” She flashes him a pointed look over the top of her glasses. While it makes him want to keep her here all the more, he registers the seriousness in her eyes and reluctantly lets go, arms falling dramatically down to his sides. “Fine. Go.”

“Don’t make this into something it’s not. I’m trying to protect both of us right now,” she reasons, needs him to understand, “I know you think it doesn’t matter, but it’s going to. Trust me.” 

“I do trust you.” He sighs. “I guess I just don’t give a fuck what any of them think right now.”

“I don’t care what they think either,” she explains, “but I do care about both of our futures and this,” she gestures between them, “is not going to help us.” 

He sits up against the headboard. “Look, I fucking get it. I do. I just don’t have to like it,” he spits out, petulance bleeding through. 

“No, you don’t,” she sighs, “but if whatever the fuck we’re doing is going to work, you can’t be overthinking everything I do.” 

He mimes holding a phone to his ear. “Ah, hello pot?” 

“Hey. We’re in this together, still, right? Rock star and mole woman?” she counters with a half-smile. 

He’s struck again by how his off-hand stream of conscious bullshit doesn’t always land the way he intends. “Yeah, not one of my better fucking analogies, sorry.” 

She shrugs one shoulder. “Well, it fits.” 

He smiles, but it doesn’t reach his eyes. “Okay then, mole woman, at least give me a kiss before you leave.”

She leans over and kisses him gently. He immediately pulls her back in for another before she eases herself away. 

On the way to the door, she quickly checks the mirror, smoothing down her hair. Then she picks up her book and sunhat before turning back to him. “Remember twenty minutes.” She waits for some confirmation that he’s heard her. “Okay?” 

“Yeah, yeah, okay,” he agrees then flops back down against the bed, then reaches over and sets the alarm on his phone for 20 minutes.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I wanted to post this yesterday, but well...shit happens... that's life I guess. 
> 
> This is one of the shorter chapters. There are longer ones coming I promise. 
> 
> Thank you again to lontanissima for her continued encouragement, suggestions and for putting up with all my neurosis. This would not exist without you.


	3. Doing this, here, now, it’s not a good idea.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> She won’t sleep, no one will tonight, not when Logan has told them he’s feeding someone to the sharks in the morning.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Once again, I must thank the amazingly talented, patient, and ever encouraging lontanissima. My debt to her cannot be underestimated!

Gerri lies in bed, book propped on her chest as she reads and rereads the same page. Realizing its hopeless, she closes the book with a sigh. She won’t sleep, no one will tonight, not when Logan has told them he’s feeding someone to the sharks in the morning. Deciding to at least close her eyes for a while and rest, she drops the book onto the nightstand, places her glasses on top and reaches to turn off the light when there’s a knock at the door, Roman’s knock. 

As usual when it comes to him, her emotions are a jumble of contradictions. After this afternoon, there’s a part of her that’s excited, aroused even. She finally had the answer to the question of whether there would ever be more than flirtation, innuendo and the occasional verbal domination. There’s a healthy dose of worry that if anyone found out they’d be painting twin targets on their backs. She’s also a bit anxious, doesn’t know exactly what he’s come looking for tonight and doesn’t know if she’s quite ready to give him whatever that might be. 

There’s no telling which Roman will walk through her door on a given night, the one full of doubt and self-recrimination or the cocky impetuous one who’s full of ideas and ready to run at them at full speed, or there’s this new Roman, more mature, more steady presence that just this afternoon told his father the LBO money was bullshit. 

Roman’s breath catches when she opens the door wordlessly stepping back to let him in. She’s clad head to toe in a pair of silky looking pajamas in his favorite color. He doesn’t have a name for it yet, but he’s spent hours contemplating its exact hue, seeing it magnified by the lenses of her signature glasses under florescent office lights, studying him over a martini in a dimly lit ballroom, or cutting right through him in darkened bedrooms like this one late at night.

With the door safely closed, he’s on top of her, wrapping her in his arms and bringing their mouths together in a passionate kiss. His hands glide along her back, her sides, her hips. Hers are just as busy caressing his chest, snaking around to his back and sliding up behind his shoulders. Ultimately, they have to pause for air, foreheads pressed together. 

After a few shaky breaths, she steps away from him needing to put some distance between them, wanting to get her bearings again. “Doing this, here, now, it’s not a good idea.”

“It’s not?” he asks still slightly out of breath.

“No.” She’s not completely sure if she’s trying to convince him or herself, but one of them has to be the voice of reason here, and there’s no doubt in her mind it’s going to have to be her. “Emotions are too heightened. Everything’s too uncertain.” 

He takes a step closer to her. Looks her directly in the eye, wants to be sure she sees how much he means this. “There is nothing uncertain in the way I feel about you.” 

“You can’t know that,” she counters crossing her arms. 

“You do realize, I’m not some fucking child who doesn’t know what I want.” He sounds defensive, determined not to show her how wounded he is by her doubt. 

“I know that. All I’m saying is that this week has already been hell for everyone. You most of all. I just… it’s a lot, okay. What if it’s me?” Anxiety ramps up in her voice even though she’s trying to speak quietly. “What if I’m the one that’s out come tomorrow?”

“That is not going to happen. I won’t let it.” He steps closer to her, close enough to touch, but his hand stalls midway and drops back to his side. He’d considered everyone but her, everyone including himself, but the thought of Gerri being forced out of the company is unthinkable. 

“It’s out of your control,” her shoulders shrug, head shakes, trying to make him understand the precarious position she’s truly in. “Ever since your father put my name was on that damn piece of paper, he’s looked at me differently. I’ve been on the outside.”

“What do you mean?” he asks truly not understanding. “You’re still inside. You are the fucking inside.” 

“It’s more a feeling… it’s hard to explain…” she sighs, “I’ve worked with Logan for over 20 years and I’m telling you it’s a very real possibility.” 

Roman’s legs give out and he lands on the arm of the chair with a “Fucking hell.” 

“That’s what I’m saying,” she sits down opposite him on the corner of the bed. “There’s no point obsessing about it. There isn’t anything either one of us can do now.” 

“I don’t accept that. I’ll figure out something.” 

“Okay.” She knows it’s futile, but she also knows he’s going to have to come to that realization on his own.

Gerri is the smartest person in the company. The smartest person he’s even known. He can’t contemplate a Waystar RoyCo without her. There can’t be a world where that could happen. When he finally looks up at her, he notices the lines at the corners of her eyes, lines he only sees when she’s exhausted or worrying. Right now, he knows it’s both. They’d slept for a little over an hour earlier. Not nearly enough sleep for the days he knows she’s gone without, but they had both slept. Maybe, just maybe… he has an idea. He pulls off the white tee-shirt he’d put on after his shower. 

“Roman, we are not doing shirts off now,” she admonishes dryly.

“As much as I like that idea.” Tapping his temple playfully. “Definitely filing that one away for future reference, by the way. Not what I had in mind.” He gets up, drapes his shirt over the chair. 

“Good. So why are you taking your –” He’s unbuttoning his pants now. “Roman, I don’t have the energy for –” He steps out of his pants and places them with his shirt. 

Gerri stands and watches in disbelief as he walks across the cabin in his boxer briefs and proceeds to climb into her bed lying down in the spot where she’d been reading her book just minutes earlier. “What exactly do you think you’re doing?” 

He flashes his most charming smile. “I’m spending the night. Come on, we already slept together once. Don’t send me back to my cold, dark, lonely room.” He flashes his very best puppy dog eyes at her, bats his lashes. 

She considers kicking him out, it’d be the smart thing to do, weighs it against her own surprising desire to let him stay. He’s right. They’d already technically slept together. It had been nice. Maybe more than nice. “Fine,” she concedes, “but move over. You’re on my side.” 

Giddily he slides over and makes room for her. Gerri climbs into bed, turns off the light and Roman curls into her side wrapping his arm around her waist, leaning his head against her shoulder.

“How ‘bout a bedtime story,” he teases pitching his voice high. 

“Oh, fuck off.” 

He chuckles into her shoulder. It’s a while before he feels her relax, feels her breathing even out. She’s not asleep, not yet. Sleep floats around the edges of his consciousness but continues to elude him. 

She feels the stiffness of his body next to hers and longs to ease it somehow. Slowly lifting her hand to his arm, she gently strokes up and down with the pads of her fingers, up to his elbow, back down to his wrist. 

He shifts closer to her, inhales the scent of her shampoo and nuzzles in between her shoulder and her neck with a longing sigh. He tenses, hoping he’s not being too clingy, too much in her space. She just keeps stroking her fingers up and down his arm without missing a beat. 

“Rome,” her voice is low, husky with sleep that just won’t come.

His answering hum is barely more than an exhale against her skin. 

“Tell me what’s bothering you.” 

“Nothing,” her murmurs into her shoulder. 

“You know, you can talk to me,” she’s doing her best to keep her tone soft, reassuring, even though she’s starting to worry about him. She concentrates on her hand, on the steady movement of her fingers against his arm, on focusing all her energy into that caress, keeping her body relaxed next to his, her breathing even and calm. 

Long minutes go by. She feels him match his breathing to hers, only to fall out of synch a couple breaths later and start over. Finally, he breaks the silence between them, “I tried talking to Kendall and Shiv earlier.” 

Her heart drops at his confession, but she keeps her voice neutral, “Did you?” 

“Yeah,” he admits frustration and defeat lacing his tone, “tried to have a real fucking conversation with them.”

“Yeah,” she whispers into the darkness, struggles for a way to salvage what must have been a disaster with his siblings, “so tell me.” 

“Really?” he asks, his voice is tired, but there’s an eagerness just below the surface.

“If you want to,” she tries to sound casual, feels everything but. 

If he wants to. If he wants to? He wants everything with her. He wants to spend every night like this, her in his arms. He wants to tell her his hopes, his dreams, his darkest secrets, his deepest desires. He wants her to share them, but does she? Would it be too much for her? Too much for anyone? Would it drive her away?

Ultimately, he decides to try, just a little bit, just a start. “I’ve just been thinking about stuff these last few days.” 

“Mmm hmm,” she hums just giving him the slightest encouragement, not wanting to intrude on his thoughts, just to let him know she’s there, listening. 

He takes a deep breath and words come pouring out. “Stuff like what I really want in life, what’s really important, what matters to me the most.” 

“And what’s that?” 

He doesn’t know what it is that’s making it so much easier for him to talk about this real shit now, is it being here in the dark, or is it her? It’s probably her, some magical Gerri honesty gene or something. “Not much actually, not fucking Waystar.”

“No?” she asks, feels the shake of his head against her shoulder. “What then?”

“Surprisingly not a lot. My family, fucking assholes that they are.” He takes a deep breath, whispers, “you.” 

Her breath catches, her fingers still against his arm, before she reaches up to his elbow, pulls his arm tighter across her stomach and turns her head to him with a kiss. When they part, she keeps her face close, noses nearly touching as she softly says, “You’re…” her voice catches, “you’re important to me too.” 

He closes the distance and brings their lips together forcefully. Kisses her with a pent-up emotion that consumes him, trying to convey the depth of his feeling for her with that one kiss. Afterwards, he settles his head back on her shoulder and her fingers go back to tracing their path along his forearm. 

In the darkness she squeezes her eyes closed. Wills the tears stinging them to remain at bay. When she finally thinks she can speak without choking up, she tenderly murmurs, “Thank you for telling me that.” 

He mutters sleepily into her shoulder and she can’t quite make out the words, it sounds almost like, ‘wife.’ Thankfully his breathing is calm and even. She thinks maybe he’s almost asleep, and she’s not going to ask him to repeat it, doesn’t want to start that conversation now. Instead, she just keeps stroking his arm, and trying to still the thoughts flying madly through her mind, wrestles with the emotions threatening to completely swallow her whole. She could really lose herself with this, with him, if she’s not careful.


	4. It seems your subconscious has other plans.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As always, my continued and unadulterated gratitude goes to lontanissima for her invaluable assistance as friend, confidant, psychologist, sounding board, and second set of eyes.

Roman’s hand flails out against the mattress starting Gerri out of the doze she’d finally fallen into. Rolling over, she sees that his whole body is rigid, his head moving back and forth as his tense voice murmurs, “Gerri!”

She sits up and calls his name, “Rome,” but it has no effect. “Rome,” she tries again a little louder. In the dim moonlight coming through the open curtains, she can see perspiration beading on his upper lip. His arm thrashes again and she has to quickly lean back out of the way.

“Where’s Gerri?” His voice sounds desperate, his breathing heavy. “Fuck.”

She touches his shoulder, “Roman.” 

His hand reaches out clutching at the blanket, “Go where?” 

Shaking him, she calls to him more firmly, “Roman, wake up.”

“What?” he asks wild eyed his body stiffening. 

She brings her hand to his face and pushes his damp hair off his forehead. “You were having a nightmare.”

Muttering, “Fuck,” he sits up against the upholstered headboard and her hand drops to her lap. 

She turns toward him. “Are you okay?”

“Yeah,” he answers scrubbing his hands over his face. “Just fucking peachy.” 

She watches in silence as he works to collect himself. 

“I… uh… I’m sorry I woke you,” he offers quietly. 

“I wasn’t really sleeping anyway,” she half-lies with a shrug.

“Fuck,” he grunts, climbing out of bed and heading into the bathroom. In the harsh light he looks in the mirror and is startled by what he sees, hair sticking out wildly, his face shiny with sweat. He splashes cold water on his face and takes a few deep breaths. When he comes back out, Gerri’s sitting up in bed watching him. He pauses a moment then walks over and plops down on the couch sideways looking out the window. 

“Do you want to talk about it?” she asks quietly from the bed.

“It’s okay,” he answers staring out at the inky sky. “You can go back to sleep.” 

She shifts back down in bed humoring him but can’t pull her eyes away from where he sits, his upper body outlined against the window, moonlight highlighting his pale skin. When he’s still sitting there long minutes later, she suggests, “Why don’t you come back to bed. Try to get some more sleep?”

“I don’t want to wake you up again,” he explains regret tinging his voice. 

“You won’t.”

“You don’t know that,” he counters defensively. 

“And you don’t know that you will,” she reasons, “besides, that’s not what you’re really worried about.” 

He sighs in defeat. Why does she always have to see through the bullshit so thoroughly? He hears the rustle of the bedding as she gets up and moves toward him. 

Lifting one leg onto the couch, she sits facing him, but not too close. “It might help to talk about it?” she suggests softly. 

“Yeah,” he huffs out. “That’s what the shrink said.” 

“So…” she prompts. 

“I don’t want to think about it,” he mutters turning more to the window and propping his head on his arm against the back cushion. 

“It seems your subconscious has other plans.” 

That has him turning to her. “Fuck my subconscious.” 

“Yeah, that’ll work well,” she declares flatly. 

He shifts, brings his feet up crossing his legs facing her, but doesn’t speak. 

He’s looking at her now, that’s a step in the right direction. When he still doesn’t say anything she tries asking, “Do you remember what you were dreaming about?” 

“Some.” His voice is small, quiet.

“So start there.” 

“It was just flashes of the stuff that happened mostly… men with guns coming in in the middle of the meeting. Dave… the security guy, being marched out…” She listens in silence, doing her best not to react to what he describes, but her heart is pounding “…sitting up all night in the ballroom with fucking Laird and Karl as people were taken out one by one.”

Finally, she can’t stay quiet any longer. “It must have been awful.” 

“Not an attraction for the guidebooks, that’s for sure,” he quips, always easier to make jokes than deal with the real shit. 

She can tell there’s more, things he’s not saying. “Anything different? Stuff that didn’t happen the way you saw it in your dream?” 

“Some,” he admits as vivid images fly though his mind. He takes a deep breath, tries to give order to some of the chaos. It’s not that he doesn’t want to talk to her, it’s just that he doesn’t want to relive this shit and fuck some of the shit he was just dreaming was not okay. 

As she waits for him to continue, she tentatively reaches her hand out softly touching his knee. He looks down at her hand but doesn’t move away or tense, so she lets it rest there, gently gliding her thumb back and forth. 

“Well, there were moments, between shooting the shit with the fucking shit fuckers and Karl having one of his panic attacks, where I… where I thought that some serious shit was going to go down, you know… like I thought they might decide to off us or something and I guess some of the dream was that kind of stuff.” 

“That’s natural, I think. All the emotions you had coming to the surface.” 

“I guess,” he sighs, shifting toward her, swinging his legs up over the arm of the couch his head landing in her lap. 

She’s a little surprised by his abrupt change in position, but adjusts quickly her fingers drifting to his hair, it’s even more damp than it was before. He must have gotten it wet when he washed his face. He turns his head into her thigh almost catlike as her nails scratch gently against his scalp. 

Humming with pleasure at her touch and the silky feel of her pajama pants against his face. Like this, the last thing he wants to think about is fucking men with guns and not being able to get the money his father needs. “I guess I just feel like a failure.” 

She’s momentarily thrown by the non sequitur, blinking as she tries to catch up. She should be used to the way his mind works by now, but it’s the middle of the night and she’s not exactly operating at full capacity, so she goes for a clarification, “In what way?” 

He’s quick to reply, hands gesturing as he talks. “If I’d gotten the fucking money there wouldn’t be talk of anybody getting shitcanned tomorrow.” 

This she understands. This she can deal with. “That definitely would have helped, but it’s certainly not a failure. You did the right thing telling your Dad it wasn’t real.” 

“Yeah, but the fucking weeks I spent with that prick.” He’s on a roll now. “I own half a fucking soccer team. The wrong fucking soccer team.”

She can tell that he’s shifted gears, now he’s just bitching, and she smiles. “Knowing you, you’ll sell it at a profit.” 

“You think?” he asks looking up at her, feeling undeserving of her confidence in him for a moment. When she nods, he quickly jumps on the idea. “Sure… yeah... Fucking right I’ll sell it at a profit. Some fucking idiot out there has to like the fucking Hearts or the Harps or whatever the fuck they are, right?” he tries for cocksure, but as usual when he’s in this kind of a mood it sounds more hollow than confident. 

She drops her hand to his shoulder. “Why don’t we go back to bed? At least try to rest even if you don’t want to go back to sleep.”

“Nah… maybe I’ll just sit up, watch the sunrise,” he suggests anything to keep from closing his eyes again. 

“That’s a thought.” She tries to suppress a yawn, but it still slips out and she lifts her hand to cover her mouth. 

He grasps her other hand where it rests on his shoulder. “You should definitely go back to sleep.” 

“So should you,” she squeezes his hand back.

“What the fuck,” he feels guilty for keeping her up, since it seems like she won’t go back to bed if he doesn’t. He stands quickly, offers her his hand pulling her up next to him and into his arms. He touches his forehead to hers, breaths her in. 

Gerri lifts her hands to his face, softly stroking his scruffy cheeks before gently bringing her lips to his in a tender kiss. She knows he’s not telling her everything about his dream, had heard him call her name when she first woke up, but she’s not going to push him beyond what he’s willing to share. He’s already shared so much tonight. 

She steps out of his arms and grasps his hand leading him back over to the bed. Climbing under the covers, they lie on their separate sides of the bed facing each other. “I’m glad you’re here and I’m not alone tonight,” she confesses softly. 

His hand reaches out and finds hers lacing their fingers together. “Me too.” He brings their joined hands up and kisses the backs of her fingers then rests their hands back on the mattress between them. 

With a gentle squeeze of her hand against his she says, “Goodnight,” with a yawn. 

“G’night,” he answers back watching as her eyes drift closed. He’s thankful that at least she’s here next to him. He can see her, see that she’s okay, that the horrors from his dream were just that, a dream, not real. She’s alive and safe. He just has to keep her that way. He has to protect her, no matter what.


	5. Like it or not, the shitshow is coming

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know this is another short chapter, and I'm sorry about that. I promise the next one is much, much longer than this one. Also, I'm hoping to post these faster moving forward.

This time Roman wakes up first, sunlight peeking through the opening in the curtains. Gerri’s lying on her back next to him. She’s so beautiful he can’t help staring, surprised he’s actually woken up first, not that either of them had slept much. He knows she’d been restless after he’d that stupid nightmare, no doubt worried about him and worried about what the fuck was going to happen this morning. It’s still surprising that he almost doesn’t care anymore about his place in the company or his father’s approval two things forever elusive and forever linked. There’s finally something that matters more to him than either. 

He can hear people moving around, voices in the hallway. He wants to let her sleep more, but knows that if the others are up, she’d want to be up, make sure she was part of the conversation, demonstrate her value. Not that she should have to constantly demonstrate how valuable she is anymore. 

Deciding to take full benefit of his current tactical advantage, he leans over her and gently kisses her cheek softly murmuring, “Gerri.” Slowly moving to press his lips to her temple, he whispers her name again, “Gerri.” He kisses her forehead, then as softly as possible kisses each eyelid in turn before he says her name again a little bit louder than before with a bit of a sing-song lilt, “Gerri, wake up.”

She’s awake. Has been since she’d felt his lips on her forehead, but she’d kept her eyes closed feigning sleep. Their touches had been mostly one-sided before yesterday. She’s touched his arm, his shoulder, helped him button his shirt, confident, sure, perhaps a bit taken aback at times by the electric charge building between them ever since Japan, but nonetheless certain of his acceptance of the gesture. He however has not been so bold before, so free with physical affection when it comes to her. She’s curious to see what he’ll do next.

He moves his lips to her neck, and she sighs. He recognizes that she’s messing with him, so he ups the ante and draws his lips across the underside of her jaw settling just behind her ear. When he gently sucks on the sensitive skin there, he earns a low moan and sucks harder. 

“Don’t you dare,” she utters, a steely warning. 

He relents with a laugh and lifts up above her. Her eyes are open now, pupils dilated, sexy as sin half smile that almost dares him to kiss her, and he is not one to ignore a dare even if it’s in his own mind. The kiss ignites with passion right from the start, lips, teeth, tongues melding together. Her fingers push through his hair nails scraping against his scalp pulling him closer. 

His hand slides down the silk of her pajama top and then under it, across the soft skin of her stomach and up, gently cupping her breast. His touch is tentative at first, a gentle squeeze. Then his thumb finds her nipple. She sighs. He glides his thumb back over the tight bud. Her breath catches and he pulls back to watch her face as he does it again. 

Her hands slide down to his biceps squeezing, lips coming together as a hum forms in the back of her throat. He’s grinning down at her like a fucking idiot, but she doesn’t care as long as he keeps touching her. 

He draws his finger and thumb together pinching and her back arches off the bed pushing more firmly into his touch. He loves watching how responsive she is, but he can’t resist the urge to taste more of her skin. Planting open mouthed kisses along her jaw, her neck, her collarbone, he uses his other hand to lift up her pajama top and suddenly there’s a knock at her door. 

“Gerri?” It’s Frank. “Are you up?” 

Roman drops his head onto her shoulder with a, “Fuck.” Both of their breathing ragged and he feels her body start to shake beneath him. 

He sits up and looks down at her. She has the back of one hand pressed over her mouth. A look of horror sweeps over his face and he whispers harshly. “You’re laughing.”

There’s another knock at the door. “Gerri.”

Tears begin to glisten in the corners of her eyes. 

“You’re fucking laughing,” his voice is louder indignant now.

Her body is practically convulsing with the effort to be quiet.

“Why don’t I just go tell him you’re fucking busy?” He starts to get up.

Her hand reaches out and grabs his arm in a vice grip pulling him back down to sit on the bed. “Just be quiet,” she says her laughter now a quiet chuckling, “He’ll go away.” 

“Ready for the slaughter,” Karl has joined Frank outside the door. 

“Jesus, is it a fucking convention out there?” Roman hisses. 

“May as well,” Frank agrees, and their footsteps fade down the hallway. 

“How can you be friends with that fucking prick?” he demands in a harsh low voice, becoming more and more frustrated.

“Frank’s not so bad. I know you’ve had your issues with him,” she explains, “but I’ve known him a long time.” 

“Issues… sure… yeah…fucking issues.” Roman’s clearly working himself up over this. “He probably has a thing for you. Karl does too, I’ve seen the way he looks at you.” 

Gerri shakes her head and lets out a dry sort of chuckle at the very idea. 

“Laird wants you,” he argues beginning to gesture fervently with his hands, “Everybody fucking wants you.” 

She laughs outright. “You’re crazy.” 

“I am not.” He fires back rising up on his knees. “Trust me. You’re the queen of Waystar fuck, marry, kill.”

“Waystar what?” she asks clearly confused by what he’s saying.

“Fuck, marry, ki…” He cuts himself off mid rant shakes his head and flops back against the cushioned headboard. “Oh, never fucking mind.” 

She sits up and lifts her hand to his cheek. “Rome. Thank you for making me forget for a while what a shitshow today is going to be.” She leans over and kisses him once, twice, lingering tender kisses hoping that it’s enough for now, enough to convey what she’s feeling, enough to reassure him that they’re in this together. “But… like it or not. The shitshow is coming and we should get up and get prepared for it.” 

“I don’t want to.” He sighs flopping back down onto the pillows. 

“Neither do I,” she declares quietly, like she’s letting him in on a secret. Then she’s up, out of bed, and heading into the bathroom. 

Roman is ready first thankful that he’d thought to put on clean clothes before coming over the night before. He drifts into the doorway of the bathroom watching as she applies her mascara. She’d come out to get her flat iron a little while ago and left the door open as she fixed her hair. He decides she looks at least ten years younger away from the office even with the stress they’re all under but wisely decides to keep that thought to himself. When she reaches for her lipstick, he steps behind her and wraps his arms around her waist resting his head on her shoulder. 

She meets his gaze in the mirror. “Yes.” 

Over her shoulder he says, “Just enjoying the fact that I get to do this, now. I do get to do this now, don’t I?”

Smiling at his reflection, she leans back against his chest, bringing her arms to rest over his. “It would seem you do.” 

He noses her hair aside nuzzling her neck, “Good.” 

She indulges him a moment then leans back toward the mirror uncapping the lipstick. 

“Wait.” 

“What?” 

He turns her in his arms and envelopes her in a searing kiss. She momentarily flails her hands wanting to embrace him, but with the lipstick tube in one hand and the cap in the other she settles for pouring all of her feeling into the kiss itself. 

She smiles at him as they end the kiss. “Get that out of your system?” 

“Never,” he answers before planting a swift smooch on her lips then stepping back away from her with his hands raised. “I will however let you finish getting ready unmolested.” 

She flashes him an indulgent smile then turns and finishes her lipstick then recaps the tube and drops it into her makeup bag. “But you do get points for doing that before I put on my lipstick.” 

“Ooh, Gerri points.” He rubs his hands together with glee. “How many do I get? Is there some sort of a chart with prizes? With sufficient motivation there’s no telling what you could get me to do?” 

She raises an eyebrow at him, “Because you haven’t been sufficiently rewarded yet?” 

“Just wondering what I’m working toward.” 

She walks toward the door patting him on the chest as she passes him, “That’s still to be determined.” 

“I can live with that,” he agrees following her. 

She pauses as she reaches for the door handle, takes a deep breath, steeling herself to face the others. “Ready for the bloodbath?” 

He’s nearly on top of her when he answers, “Fuck no, let’s go,” followed by a sweeping gesture for her to open the door.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you to everyone for your kudos and comments so far. I hope you're still enjoying the story.
> 
> Also, once again thank you to the wonderful lontanissima for all her encouragement, support and assistance!


	6. No one has ever done anything like that for me before

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, so much credit for me somehow actually managing to write this chapter goes to lontanissima. Anything you might like is almost certainly done with her encouragement, suggestions, handholding, and occasional, well meaning and welcome nagging. If you don't like anything, or if there are any mistakes, that's 100% on me.

No one says much after Logan exits with his declaration that they have, ‘half an idea.’ Whatever the fuck that means. Geri spends a few minutes pushing the food around on her plate, still too angry to eat anything. She wasn’t surprised to be one of the names thrown out as the possible sacrifice but hadn’t expected that nearly everyone there would take aim at her at once. Everyone that is except Roman. What he had done, fighting for her like that, arguing her case so fiercely, speaking to Logan in language he understands, addressing how it would play, offering strong, valid alternatives. She’s overwhelmed. 

“Another bottle, really?” Willa snaps at Connor. 

“I don’t know about the rest of you, but I could use a break,” Roman announces before shooting Gerri a pointed look and leaving. 

“Great idea,” Willa agrees and heads off in the opposite direction. 

Gerri can’t sit still any longer. Too furious to say anything to these people who only moments ago were ready to throw her overboard, she leaves without a word. Heading straight for Roman’s cabin, she knocks without even bothering to check to see if anyone is around, doesn’t give a fuck at the moment. 

Roman opens the door hesitantly. “Oh, good it’s you. I was worried it might be someone wanting to shank me after that fucking circular firing squad up there.” She barrels past him into the room. “I can’t believe what those fucking assholes tried to –”

Adrenaline and anger still coursing through her veins, she’s too keyed up to listen. His words just buzzing in her ears, she takes hold of his face with both hands and pulls him down into a searing kiss. His arms instantly wrap around her, pull her closer to him. It’s long minutes before they break apart, before she steps back from him enough to see his face clearly. Her hands drifting down his arms to join with his. 

“Rome,” his name is a sigh. “What am I going to do with you?” 

Countless dirty one liners pop into his head, but he sees that she’s sincere, senses that there’s more she needs to say, so for once he decides to shut the fuck up, to wait her out.

Her brain and her mouth seem out of synch as words come tumbling out. “What you did… that was… I… No one… has ever done anything like that for me before.” 

“Fuck them,” he’s angry again on her behalf. “I told you I wouldn’t let them do that to you.” 

“You stood up to every single one of them,” her own rage is rising again too, “took them out one by one.” 

“You’re worth a hundred fucking Franks or Karls or fucking shits himself in front of Congress Tom. It was like a nature doc the fucking hyenas thought they could pick off a lone gazelle.” 

“I’m hardly a gazelle.” 

“True, you’re a fucking lioness, the way you went for Shiv. Damn woman, that was hot.” He pulls her back against him his hands landing on her hips. 

Her arms slid around his waist, “You were pretty hot, too,” she admits her eyes drifting down over him before their mouths join together again, their kiss passionate, leaving them clinging to each other and out of breath. 

She kisses her way down his throat to the shallow V of his tee-shirt and it’s not enough. 

He feels her hands bunch in his shirt and begin pulling it up. He leans back to look at her questioningly. 

“Off,” her voice so low it’s almost a whisper. 

“Yes, ma’am,” he readily agrees and pulls the shirt over his head throwing it across the room. 

As soon as it’s gone, her arms are around him again, hands splayed across his back, her short fingernails scraping up behind his shoulder blades and pulling him down to her for another hungry kiss. His hands land back on her hips before sliding to her ass. With a firm squeeze, he feels her breath catch. Breaking their kiss, he trails his lips across the underside of her jaw, seeking out the spot just behind her ear that he’d found this morning. When he settles over that spot an inch or so below her hairline, he’s rewarded with a breathy sigh. Slowly grazing his teeth against the soft skin there draws a sound that’s almost a purr, makes her nails dig more firmly into his flesh. 

He leans back and looks at her with a smug grin, one hand coming up to the side of her face, fingers running through her hair. He loves the feel of the silky tresses gliding past his fingers. “Seems I’ve uncovered one of your weak spots.” 

“Oh, you think so, do you?”

“I do. I think I’ll see what else I can uncover,” he announces as he brings his hands up to the top button of her dress and slides it through the buttonhole. He quickly moves on to the second, his gaze locked on the expanse of skin he’s revealing. 

She tenses when he begins to uncover her, but doesn’t stop him. Now that she’s decided she wants this with him, she can only hope that he won’t be disappointed with what he finds, with the comparison he’s sure to draw between her body and the bodies of the young model types he’s been with up until now. If the look on his face is anything to judge by, he seems happy enough with what he’s found so far. 

Easing loose the third, he’s afforded a glimpse of the dark green satin and lace of her bra, a stark contrast to her creamy white skin. The fourth gives him enough room to slide his hand inside, feel the texture of the lace against his palm and the weight of her breast in his hand.

Her hands slide around to the front of his pants, easily unbuttoning them. When her fingers move to his fly, his hand stills against her. She slides the zipper down with painstaking slowness. He’s already half hard and his breath catches in the back of his throat as her hands push his pants down past his hips. 

His fingers go back to work on her buttons with a new zeal. Quickly, he unbuttons two more, enough to open her dress to the waist. He brings his hands to her shoulders and glides the soft material down and off revealing dark green satin and lace panties that match her bra. His brain is screaming, “Fuck yes” which judging by the low chuckle he hears he must have vocalized somehow. Embarrassed by his lack of finesse, he looks up to find her smiling at him indulgently.

“That is the general idea, Rome,” she teases flattered by his response. 

“Yes. Yes, it is,” he agrees stupidly. There must not be enough blood pumping to his brain anymore. With words so clearly failing him, he reaches for her hand and pulls her toward the bed. Drawing her in for a series of quick open-mouthed kisses, he nips at her upper lip as he maneuvers her to the side of the bed. 

When the backs of her legs connect with the high mattress she slowly sits on the edge, his kisses chasing her down. Hands back in her hair, he lowers her onto the pillows. There’s a clumsy jumble of arms and legs, knees and elbows, as they position themselves on the bed, and when it ends, they’re looking at each other awkwardly.

Roman hovers above her for a moment then flops down on the bed next to her with a groan facedown against the pillows. “This is not how I fucking pictured this.”

“What?” she asks, her heart sinking at the thought that maybe he’s realized this isn’t what he wants as she stares up at the ceiling.

He turns his head in her direction. “I just… wanted to be smoother… more romantic… not some bumbling fucking dipshit.” 

She rolls onto her side to face him, brings her hand to his arm. “Hey. Enough. What you did back there, that was no bumbling dipshit.” Her hand glides up to his shoulder then down onto his chest.

“I just…,” he reaches up to cover her hand with his own, brings both to rest over his heart. “I want to be better… for you.” 

“You don’t have to prove anything, not to me.”

“I don’t?”

“No, you don’t.” Gerri leans into him, gently bringing her lips to his. Her kiss is tender, reassuring, but after a minute, Roman takes control with a stunning urgency. Skimming his hand down her body to her bare thigh, he pulls her leg up over his hip, slides his hand to her ass and grinds against her.

Breathless, they come up for air, then suddenly she finds herself on her back and he’s above her again, his eyes a mix of lust and awe. He dips his head down to suck at her pulse point, the hollow of her throat, the center of her chest. His fingers draw up across her stomach, brush over her breast, and pause at the top of her bra. Gently he slides the lace down revealing her to him. “So beautiful,” he murmurs before taking her nipple into his mouth. 

Her fingernails scrape against his scalp as he plays his tongue across the stiff peak before sucking on it firmly. Tracing the sides of the satiny fabric, his fingers slide down underneath her to the clasp, his face a mask of intense concentration as he works the hooks loose. Once he as it undone, he rises up with a triumphant fist pump, “Yes,” then pulls the straps down her arms and throws the dark green material over his shoulder. 

She chuckles at his ridiculous display of childish glee, but the sound catches in her throat, turns into a moan as he brings his mouth to her other breast, grazes his teeth against her nipple, then circles it with his tongue. Her back arches off the bed, electricity spreading down her body straight to her core. Her hands grasp for purchase on his back, slide down as far as she can reach, nails drawing back up over his shoulders and into his hair. 

He’s drowning in sensation, her nails against his scalp, her body under him, her flesh in his mouth, between his teeth, her taste, her scent. He can’t get enough of her, wants to touch and taste everything at once. His hand reaches down to her leg, the backs of his fingers trailing up the inside of her thigh, up to the juncture of her legs. He can feel her heat through the thin material of her panties. He brings his hand to the top then slides his fingers down underneath the satin and lace. 

Pulse pounding in her ears, she sucks in a breath, doesn’t realize she’s holding it as his hand slowly, tortuously finds its way to her clit. Her entire being focuses on the path of his fingers as they slide against her, his touch is tentative, a feather light teasing that just barely scrapes at the edges of the need that’s been stoked up over the long months since that first phone call. 

He rises up over her, his eyes drilling down into hers, watching as he slides his hand up and grasps the edge of her underwear pulling them down and off. They go the way of her bra, but with much less fanfare and then his fingers are back on her, sliding down, over, inside of her, but his touch is still too timid. 

He’s cataloguing every tiny fragment of new information he’s discovering, the feel of her body against his, the warmth of her skin, the heady scent of her perfume mixed her arousal, the way the sunlight is catching her hair, making it glow. 

She’s had enough, locks her hands on his ass and squeezes before grabbing the waistband of his boxer-briefs, yanking them down his thighs, and leaving him to finish the job. He lets out a strangled sounding “Fuck,” as her warm hand slides over the head of his cock then down and back up, her thumb circling over and around the head. “Mmm… Gerri… fuck… slow down,” he hisses out through clenched teeth, his breathing ragged. 

She stills her hand against him. “I’ll slow down, if you speed up.” 

He shakes his head in agreement and brings his mouth to hers in a kiss that steals her breath, leaves her head spinning. Suddenly his fingers are back at work, with purpose this time, setting a rhythm that slowly builds. 

She loosens her hand, just barley touching him, slow, deliberate strokes. She lifts her leg over his hip. He changes the angle of his hand and she lets out a deep throaty sigh. 

“You like that?” he asks repeating the motion. “Tell me.” 

She sighs again before she answers. “Yes,” her voice deep and husky. 

“Talk to me.” When she doesn’t say anything, he stills his hand against her. 

“Fuck,” she hisses out, teeth biting into her lower lip. 

“I want to hear your voice.”

“Okay… just don’t stop.” 

Immediately he sets his hand back in motion and fixes his eyes on her. 

She shifts her hips, pulls him closer with her leg, and their eyes meet. She nods, their hands joining together to guide him inside. “Mmm,” she hums as he slowly fills her. She can feel her body stretch to take him deeper, releasing a sibilant, “Yes,” when she’s taken in every inch of his length. 

His rhythm is slow, erratic, she can see the concentration on his face. He asked her to talk to him, she’s done that before, well differently, but still. She’s racking her brain for what to say, the strain is beginning to show in his eyes, then it hits her. “You were so good today.”

“I was?” he questions. 

“Yes, you were. Everyone was gunning for me.” His face changes, the look of strained desperation is gone. “You took them down one by one.” His movements settle into a steady rhythm. “You fought for me.”

“Always,” he assures her, takes a moment to gaze down at her, the movement of her eyes beneath the closed lids, her pulse pounding in her neck, the swaying of her full breasts. 

“Tell me more,” he almost pleads.

“I… I was so worried you were going to say something stupid, but you didn’t. You said the exact right thing.” 

“I did?” 

“Yes… you did.”

He pauses, takes a deep breath and lifts her leg higher on his hip changing his angle. 

“Mmm…” her eyes fly open and she gasps out, “oh… yes…” 

He’s smiling down at her. “Tell me” he demands his tempo increasing, his stroke lengthening.

“There… oh… Rome,” she pants. Her fingernails must be biting into his arms, but he doesn’t seem to notice. Heat is spreading throughout her body, but she keeps talking to him. “What you did was so fucking hot.” 

“You were a fucking Rock Star.” Sweat is beginning to glisten on her brow, a pink flush spreading across her chest, up her neck, he can feel her tightening around him as he struggles to hold back. “My fucking Rock Star,” she hisses into his neck.

The entire focus of her world shifts, narrows, there’s only him and her and the places where their bodies join. His hand on her thigh, his breath against her neck, his pelvic bone rhythmically hitting against her, his length sliding deep within her. She moves beneath him, her back arching off the mattress, her pelvis pushing forcefully into him. Her vision blacks out. Overwhelmed, her body contracts around him. His teeth graze against the spot on her neck, below her ear and a rush of liquid heat bursts from her center pulsing out through the rest of her body. 

As she clings to him, he finally lets go spasming against her before the two collapse onto the bed. Physically spent, breath hitching erratically, emotions raw, tears pool in his eyes as he chokes back a strangled sob.

His lithe frame feels heavy against her, but he is a welcome weight, anchoring her, something to focus on as her body calms, her breathing settles back into a normal pattern. She runs her fingers through his damp hair, caressing the back of his head, her effort to sooth whatever is whirring away inside. They both lie still while their bodies cool, heartbeats slow.

Roman slowly opens his eyes, doesn’t understand the dampness sticking his eyelashes together. He tries to blink it away, still puzzled when he rubs at them and finds them wet. Is this what normos do? It’s not like he has sex often enough to know what normal is. He’s overcome with emotion, but it’s not something he can name, not something he’s exactly felt before. Words just don’t seem to make sense in his head, but he feels an overwhelming desire to express this feeling, whatever it is, to her. 

Gerri sighs, savoring the liquid sensation in her muscle and the feeling of him maybe finally settling as he lies against her when suddenly, he rises up seizing her in a passion fueled kiss so intense it actually steals her breath away. Before she can catch up, he’s flopped down on his back on the other half of the bead and she’s left reeling again, gasping to fill her lungs with oxygen. 

She hazards a glance in his direction. Sees him staring at the ceiling, expression unreadable. He’s close enough that she could reach out and touch him, but she doesn’t. It seems he needs a little space for the moment. Not entirely a bad idea, a moment to regroup, to try to organize her thoughts, to makes sense of all the feelings that surface in the wake of passion. 

In spite of all the times she thought that sex with Roman would never happen, should never happen, could never happen, it has now. That ship has sailed and the view from her deckchair looks pretty fucking good. The yacht they’re on may be going up in flames, but the one they’ve been building together over rounds of insults that ring farther and farther from any truth they once held, through late night calls and strategy sessions, for the moment at least, that boat is riding high. 

He feels his sticky skin cooling in the climate-controlled air of the cabin, thinks if he feels the cold, she must, too. Women are always cold, aren’t they? He reaches for the sheet at the foot of the bed, pulls it up over them, and uses the moment to take her in. She’s lying there gloriously naked, lush curves unhidden, eyes closed, her face radiant. He knows that this is a sight he will remember to his dying breath, and that’s the moment his stomach rumbles breaking the spell. 

Gerri chuckles and it’s music to his ears. “Your disgusting green juice not enough for you?” 

He rolls onto his side to look at her, trademark Roman grin in place. “I seem to have worked up an appetite.” He draws another chuckle with that. “What, you’re not hungry?”

She gifts him with an indulgent, affectionate smile. “I could eat.”


	7. I guess it’s back to the voyage of the damned

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Apologies up front if there are more mistakes than normal. My beloved beta reader and faithful friend is unfortunately otherwise occupied at the moment. If anyone would like to help give a second set of eyes to the next couple chapters, let me know. That said lontanissima still has my heartfelt gratitude for being my support, sounding board and cheerleader during the writing process. 
> 
> Also, I am tremendously grateful to all who take the time to comment. It's very appreciated.

Looking out at the brilliant sunset reflected on the rippling waves, Geri takes a deep breath followed by a satisfying sip of her martini. She closes her eyes as she exhales through her nose, focuses on the sting of the vodka hitting the back of her throat, tastes the subtle zing of the lemon. A storm of thoughts swirls in her mind. Ever since leaving Roman that’s all she’d done, think, about whether or not she’s just made the make the single biggest fucking mistake of her life, but also about how fucking good it felt in the moment. What does he really want when he looks at her with that combination of longing and awe, arousal somehow mixed with fear? Is it fear of her or of himself? Maybe it’s both. 

She can’t help the warmth that fills her when she contemplates him, how he listens to her advice, how he makes her laugh, how he makes her feel young and desirable. Tempering that though is the fact that he’s still a _Roy._

After all those years of fending off Logan’s advances, she hadn’t always been the clever filing cabinet she’d transformed herself into, it had taken years of careful, calculated self-preservation to become the mole woman she is today, years of wearing glasses instead of contacts, dependable suits, classic pearls, and stylish updos all designed to exude confidence, authority, and intelligence, keeping herself fashionable and current without being flashy or attracting too much attention. All that careful sculpting of her professional persona and she still somehow ended up in bed with a Roy. 

When she’s near him she’s too easily charmed by his jokes, by his easy affection, by his ardent looks. When he’s there next to her, holding her, kissing her, distracting her in every way imaginable, she’s not herself, she’s not the careful planner, the calculated decision maker. But away from him, away from the looks and the teasing and the, God help her, away from the sex, the thoughts come rushing back. Paramount in her mind is the thought that this is going to bite them both in the ass at some point and really it will bite her in the ass more than anything. He’s a Roy. Roy’s are expected to fuck around, to act scandalously. No matter what Me Too or Times Up or whatever current fucking hashtag is trending claims, it’s always the women in these situations that take the hit. Besides, she’s older, more experienced. She’s the fucking general counsel of a multibillion-dollar global empire. She knows better, or she should anyway. 

And underneath all of that, there’s the real reason they’re even stuck out here inside this postcard perfect vacation from hell. What the fuck is Logan going to do? Who is he going to sacrifice to appease the gods, the board, congress, the fucking twenty-four-hour news cycle of shit? Her name is still on that piece of paper, that makes her a threat. Despite his lauding her loyalty this morning and Roman’s compelling arguments, she’s still right in the crosshairs. Hiding in plain sight on the top deck of the boat and nursing her second martini of the evening, alone. 

~*~*~*~

Roman has spent the last half hour searching for Gerri in every corner of the ship. It’s been hours since he’s seen her. Hours since he tasted her kisses, white wine and peaches, as he recalls. It’s what they’d ended their lunch with sitting on the sofa in his room, Gerri wrapped in a soft white terrycloth robe and nothing else. She wouldn’t indulge his ‘ridiculous romantic fantasy’ and eat in bed with him, saying she wanted to enjoy her food and not wear it. He had of course ensured that she did both enjoy and end up wearing just a little of it, though he’d gladly volunteered to lick it off, which had ended pretty happily for both of them.

He’d felt giddy when she left him saying that she needed to go take a shower, regroup, prepare for dinner with his father and the eventual fuck-tastrophy that was about to befall someone, or a group of someones. Who was he kidding they were all about to get fucked by his dad in some way, it just remained to be seen who was going to get fucked worse than who? Once she’d stepped out the door his giddiness had given way to uncertainty, which lead to doubt, which lead to fear, which lead to self-loathing. There are literally hundreds of ways he could fuck things up with her, just like he has with every other relationship he’s ever had, but he’d never really cared before. Now the thought of letting her down, hurting her, it’s the last thing in the world he wants to ever do, but it’s inevitable. He’s the Roy family fuck up after all. 

There were fleeting moments of hopefulness though when he’d thought of how she’d looked at him, how she’d praised his defense of her, the sounds of her sighs and moans, the feeling of making love to her, and no matter how he’d made fun of that term in the past saying ‘fucking is fucking what’s the difference.’ He just hadn’t seen it before, hadn’t experienced it. He’s known he’s been in love with Gerri for months, and that he could easily scare her off with declarations like that. He also knows that he’s going to slip the fuck up and probably soon. He’s caught himself about to say the words to her at least three times in the past two days alone and it’s just getting harder to stop, because the more he looks at her the more it’s the main thought in his head. 

She’d said she’d meet him up on deck for a drink before dinner, and he’s spent the past half hour searching for her. Yeah, it’s a big boat, but that can’t mean that many places. He scans the aft deck one more time and that’s when he notices the stairs leading up toward the bow to the topmost deck. Would she go all the way up there? Dinner was on the bottom deck. What the fuck, he decides and heads up to check it out. There she is standing near that ridiculous round seating area leaning against the rail, martini glass in hand, and looking out across the water. The last gasps of the setting sun, brilliant yellows, oranges and pinks cast her profile in a golden glow and make her blonde hair actually sparkle. Silently he steps up beside her, too mesmerized to speak. 

As she brings the drink to her lips to take a sip, she catches sight of him out of the corner of her eye and jumps back, hand coming to her chest as she swallows hard. “Jesus, Roman. I almost dropped my fucking drink.” 

“Now that would have been a tragedy of epic proportions.” It’s easy for him to fall into his usual teasing sarcasm, but his spiral of self-doubt is never far from the surface. He doesn’t get the laugh he’s hoping for, she just takes another sip of her drink and looks back out at the horizon. 

Captivated by the way the light shimmers against her pale skin, he slides his arm around her and leans down to kiss her neck. Her body stiffens against him and she flashes him an uncomfortable look. “Roman,” she speaks softly, but the tension is evident in her voice. 

“What?” he asks genuinely not understanding her unease. 

“Anyone could see us,” she explains in a harsh whisper. 

He tightens his hold, hurt by her actions, but unwilling to let her get too far. “Not unless they have x-ray fucking vision. We’re literally on the top of the boat. No one can see shit up here.” 

She looks him square in the eye, dares him to back down, but he doesn’t. He holds her gaze, his own just as intense as hers, at last she reluctantly concedes his point. With one last glance back at the narrow access stairs, she sighs and turns back to the sunset. Roman stands just behind her. By degrees she relaxes slowly against his body until finally she’s leaning into him, her head tilted against his shoulder. 

She thinks she must have well and truly lost her mind. Either she’s insane and certifiably in need of some serious anti-psychotic medications or it’s a sign of the coming apocalypse, because she feels better. She’s most likely about to be hanged, drawn, and quartered, and it’s not that she doesn’t care, she just doesn’t care as much. The fact that it’s Roman Roy that makes her feel this way still surprises her, but she’s embracing it, for now.

Roman feels her sink back against him and smiles into her hair. Silence settles comfortably between them. He waits a few more moments, just to be sure she’s settled then eases his grip, drops his hand to lie gently on her hip, just resting there, no longer holding her in place. He enjoys the feeling of her warm body pressed against his as long as he possibly can, but he saw them setting up dinner as he was coming up here, knows they’ll be missed if they aren’t there with everyone else soon. He doesn’t really give a fuck, wants nothing more than to stand here breathing in the scent of her freshly washed hair, but she cares. With a reluctant sigh he announces, “Unfortunately, they looked close to serving dinner.” 

She hums softly in acknowledgement. Takes another sip of her martini. 

“We should probably head down,” he adds with a sigh. 

“We should,” she replies but doesn’t move. 

He waits. 

“I guess it’s back to the voyage of the damned,” she declares tone resigned, then downs the last of her martini. 

“Tom, Greg, Frank trifecta? Thousand bucks?” he quips. 

She shakes her head as she steps toward the stairs, hesitates, turns back to him. “I forgot to ask. Did you happen to see my glasses?” 

“Eh… yeah… they uh…” he stammers before confessing in a rush, “they must have gotten knocked off the nightstand.” 

A horrified look clouds her face. “You didn’t.” 

His face scrunches into a painful looking wince. “Eh… I’ll buy you like a hundred new pairs.” 

“Damn right you will,” she confirms, then shrugs. “Guess it’s contact lenses until we get home.” 

He leans close to her and with his best leering look says, “You know you’re still fucking hot even without the sexy librarian glasses.” 

“Oh please,” she holds him back with a hand to the middle of his chest. 

“What, you are?” He leans closer to her, his voice dropping low as his lips brush her ear, “You’re so fucking hot.” 

She pushes him back again, “Settle down slime puppy.” 

“I thought, I was a rock star,” he teases all cockiness and false confidence. 

She raises an eyebrow, looks him up and down appraisingly. “Depends on my mood,” she declares with a shrug of her shoulder and an edge in her voice. “Keep that in mind,” Gerri firmly puts him in his place, and she can see he loves every second of it. Her mask of disdain holds firm until she turns her back on him, then she smiles with self-satisfaction all the way down the stairs.


	8. I did not see that coming

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I can't thank the amazing lontanissima for finding the time in all that I know she's doing right now to be back at work on as my beta. Your continuing support through this whole story has been more than I could ever ask. I hope you know how much I treasure your friendship. 
> 
> I'm sorry it's been so long since my last update, life got a little crazy. This is a short chapter but there are more not far behind. I promise.

“Fucking Kendall. I did not see that coming,” Roman announces as soon as the door to his cabin closes. 

“Neither did I.” Gerri agrees, dropping onto the plush sofa under the window, pulling her legs up and tucking herself into the corner. She watches as Roman begins pacing the width of the room like a caged animal. “It works though,” she offers with a shrug and a wince. 

“I know it works, but fuck,” he huffs out still in constant motion. “I just… fuck. It’s Kendall. He’s been so fucked up…” He runs his hand through his hair making it stick out in all directions. “I just don’t know if he can take it. I mean…it’s bad again… the drugs… the shoplifting… I know he’s on coke, but I don’t know what the fuck else he’s doing… and Naomi fucking Pierce what is with that? She’s a fucking nightmare. They just make each other worse. This is not good.” 

His anxiety is contagious, she can feel her own heart rate increasing the more wound up he gets. He’s spinning out, but there’s nothing he can really do. Nothing any of them can do. Finally, she can’t watch him anymore and calls out to him. “Rome.” He stops and focuses on her. “Come here.” She pats the cushion next to her. 

Straightening her legs as he walks over and flops down, she guides his shoulders down to her lap, his head resting on her thigh. “I wish I could tell you everything’s gonna be okay.” She brushes the hair off his forehead as he looks up at her. “I don’t know what the fuck’s going to happen, but I know your Dad will do everything in his power to help him.” Slowly, she begins combing her fingers through his hair smoothing it back down. “You will to.” 

She pauses, thinks, starts to build a course of action. It’s what she does. She plans. Whenever she’s worried about something the only thing that helps is mapping out her next moves and countermoves like a chess game. Maybe it can ease his worries too, if he can latch onto a plan, something they can do. “We’ll get him back in rehab,” she suggests. “That clinic in Switzerland is a good place. He can do the full program this time, as long as he needs. There won’t be any reason to pull him out.” 

“I guess.” He sighs closing his eyes, not sounding at all convinced, letting her touch sooth him. What’s that shit that one shrink used tell him to do? He remembers, concentrates on breathing deeply, counts each breath until he gets to ten. If she thinks they can help Kendall, then it has to be possible. He went to the clinic before. He’ll agree to go back. 

Gerri leans her head back, closing her eyes and letting the silence wash over them. She can feel how tense he is, wants to think of some positive way of redirecting his thoughts. “So…you’re the sole COO now.”

“Whoopee fuckin’ do,” his voice is thin, hollow. “At least fuckhead Frank will have his hands too full with cruises to give me any shit.”

She drops her free hand to his shoulder. “I’m sure he will. I expect we all will.”

“It’s just one fucking hit after another. Does it ever fucking stop?”

“I hope so,” she sighs her hand coming to rest against the top of his head. 

He gently lifts the hand on his shoulder and presses his lips to backs of her fingers. “We’re gonna be okay though? You and me?” 

“Mm hm,” she hums softly, hopes she sounds reassuring, but the long years of experience has taught her nothing is certain. 

There’s a knock at the door and he ignores it. “I mean it,” his voice sounds almost desperate, “tell me we’re still gonna be okay.”

She looks down at him and their gazes lock. “We’re good,” she assures him as they hear whoever’s outside knock again. 

Roman heaves himself off the couch and Gerri with a loud, “Fuck.” 

Gerri’s eyes dart around the room for a split second looking for a way out, but quickly she rejects that thought. She’s here. They’re fully clothed. It’s not like she’s going to hide in the bathroom or under the bed, she smiles to herself at the absurdity of the very idea.

Roman opens the door just enough to see who’s there, his whole body filling the narrow opening. “Yeah.”

Shiv stands in the passageway arms crossed, demanding, “What fucking took you so long?” 

Refusing to rise to her bait, he responds flatly, “What do you want?” 

“I left Kendall out on deck with Connor, so I figure we have five maybe six minutes until he either stabs him in the eye with a broken beer bottle or jumps overboard.” 

Puzzled, Roman asks, “What do you expect me to do about it?” 

“Come the fuck with me,” she explains in her you’re a moron voice like it should be obvious. “I’m not going to sit Kendall-watch alone.” 

“You just said Connor’s up there.” 

Shaking her head, eyebrows raised she looks down at him, “My point exactly.” 

“Okay, fuck,” he concedes. “Just… just give me a couple minutes.” 

“What the fuck?” she questions. “Do you have someone in there with you?” 

“What? No,” he immediately denies. “What the fuck gave you that idea?” 

“Fine. Five minutes. Tell the cute deckhand you can –.” 

“Fuck you,” Roman cuts her off shoving the door closed and turning back toward Gerri. 

She’s already up and heading to the door. “It’s good. You should spend some time with Kendall.” 

He reaches for her arm as she passes him. “Wait.” She stops, looks at him and her expression is unreadable. “You’re sure? We’re good?” 

“I’m sure.” She sees the doubt in his eyes. “If that ever changes, I’ll tell you.” 

He regards her for a long moment, tries to choose how needy he’d seem if he asked for more. Ultimately, he decides he’s pushed enough for now. “I… uh… I don’t know how late I’ll be.”

“It’s okay,” she answers resuming her path to the door. 

“I just… I… fuck… I like sleeping with you…” he confesses quietly. She stops, turns, sees the goofy grin spread slowly across his face, “I mean, I more than like sleeping with you, but I also like just sleeping with you.” 

She glances down a moment then back up at him, “I kinda like it too, Rome,” she admits. “Both.” 

His grin widens. “Good.” 

“I’m not sure how long I’ll be up, but I’ll leave the door unlocked, if you want to come by.” 

“Oh, I’ll be there,” he confirms. 

“Goodnight.” She steps closer to him, lifts up on her toes and kisses him gently. 

He immediately wraps his arms around her and deepens the kiss. It’s long and slow and filled with emotion. As she slowly starts to pull back, he follows leaning into the crook of her neck and inhaling the sweet smell of her perfume. Reaching behind him, he opens the door and steps out into the hallway checking both ways before nodding to her that it’s safe. He watches her walk all the way to her cabin before heading out on deck to find his siblings.


	9. Somewhere between really fucking late and way the fuck too early

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is another short update, but the next one will be longer I promise.

It’s nearly morning when Roman quietly slips into Gerri’s cabin. The room is dark, but she’s left the light on in the bathroom so it wouldn’t be pitch black when he came in. He can make out her form under the covers facing away from him. 

After spending hours sitting up, talking, and playing cards of all things with his siblings, they’d finally decided to try to get some sleep. Kendall’s choppering out in a few hours anyway. Knowing she’d be asleep when he came in, he stopped by his own cabin to put on pajama pants and a clean tee shirt.

He deposits the clothes he’s brought for the morning on the dresser by the door then rounds the bed to turn off the bathroom light. In the dark he makes his way back around to what he now thinks of as his side of the bed, strips down to his boxers and climbs in. Carefully he slides over toward the center of the bed to be near her and settles on his back, unsure what to do with himself. He doesn’t want to wake her. 

After long years spent sleeping alone again after her husband’s death, she’s awake the minute she feels the bed shift. Groggily she turns over, seeking him out, moves closer to him and brings her hand to rest on his stomach. “Mmm… what time is it?” Sleep makes her voice husky and muffled. 

He drapes an arm around her shoulders. “Not sure. Somewhere between really fucking late and way the fuck too early.” 

He can hear the smile in her voice when she hums against him too tired for any unnecessary words. “You okay?” 

“Yeah,” he sighs. “Kendall actually seems kinda okay… Like almost his old self.” He lifts up his free hand and starts gesturing in the dark, “Shit, maybe I should be worried about that…who the fuck knows? We decided to send Greg back with him. Do you think that’s okay?” 

“Mm hm.” 

He groans. “He’s just so fucking useless though.”

“Hm?” she hums out on a yawn.

Roman runs his hand anxiously through his hair. “I mean I know Dad wants us all here hunkering, fucking strategizing, but shouldn’t one of us go with him?” 

She shifts against him with a sigh.

“I tried to get Shiv to go, but she says Dad wants her to stay, too.” He drops his arm back down next to him with at thunk.

“Mm hm.” She’s struggling to keep her eyes open. 

He bends one leg then the other shifting beneath the covers. “Should I go?”

Catching herself drifting off, “Hm?” she hums, willing her eyes open. 

“I mean he’s my brother after all.” Now it’s his arm that’s all over the place, his body as restless as his mind. “If he’s going to go out and face the angry mob, with their fucking pitchforks and their torches, he shouldn’t be alone.” 

“S’not a mob, it’s a press conference,” she murmurs into his side, her hand gently rubbing back and forth. 

“Yeah, yeah, I know. He’s a big boy.” His shifts against her unable to keep still. 

“He won’t be alone,” she sighs, “Karolina, Jess, everyone’ll be there.” 

“I guess,” he agrees reluctantly. “I’ll shut the fuck up now. Sorry. I didn’t want to wake you. Go back to sleep.” He presses a kiss to her forehead. 

“S’okay,” she sighs reaching her arm across his middle and giving him a gentle squeeze. “..know this is hard for you.” 

“Yeah.” He hugs her back with the arm around her shoulders, his other hand rubbing at his eyes. 

She edges closer to him, lifts his hand from his face and brings it down to rest joined with hers on his chest. “You need to relax.” 

“Fuck,” he groans into her hair. “I shouldn’t have come in here. I’m just going to keep you up.”

“I didn’t say that.” She releases his hand, and slides hers up to his shoulder, her thumb drifting back and forth across his collarbone. 

“I know,” he sighs. 

“Maybe this’ll be good, Kendall getting away from Waystar. He can get himself cleaned up.”

“Yeah, lucky him, getting out of this fucking freak show. They say addicts need to hit bottom, maybe this will be it for him.” His fingers find the ends of her hair sliding the soft strands back and forth. 

“Maybe.” 

He’s still, breathing deeply. His hand in her hair his only other movement, it lulls her back into a drowsy state. “Can you maybe sleep now?” she asks softly. 

“Maybe,” he replies, not at all sure he can, but wanting her to go to sleep regardless. He feels her body slacken against his and draws comfort from her. Sleeping with someone, slipping into unconsciousness it’s the ultimate act of trust. The fact that she trusts him with this fills his heart to nearly bursting. As much as he’s worried about Kendall, as much as he knows the shitstorm is just beginning, Gerri has become his constant, grounding him and bringing a sense of calm that he can latch onto. That thought is the one he focuses on, the one that eventually lulls him into unconsciousness himself.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As always, gratitude in abondance to the wonderful lontanissima who finds the time to listen to me obsess about word choice and phrasing and all things Gerri and Roman! Your suggestions, feedback and assistance are always appreciated more than words can express.


	10. You keep so much of the real you hidden.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm sorry it's been so long since the last update. I really don't think that will happen again. Thank you to all of you who have left comments and kudos. You're very much appreciated!
> 
> Also, big THANK YOUs to lontanissima for as always being my sounding board, my rock and my "special consultant." This still would not exist without your help!

Gerri wakes with Roman pressed against her back, his arm around her, hand resting just below her breast. His body’s relaxed, his breathing even, definitely still asleep. He was so restless, got so little sleep, she doesn’t want to wake him, but she has to move, has to stretch her neck just a little. She turns her head, arches her back a bit, only enough to relieve the pressure on her shoulder, and with the slight movement, she feels his morning erection pressed firmly against her rear. 

Behind her his weight shifts, his arm tightens around her, draws her closer, his hips grinding against her. He buries his face in her hair and nuzzles his way to the back of her neck, with a muffled groan. His lips brush against her as he exhales, finds his way to the sensitive skin just below her ear. Before she realizes what’s happening, she’s arching into him, into his hand at her breast, into his hips. An aroused hum pulling free from between her lips. 

Reaching up to the back of his head, she slides her fingers through his hair, turns her head, the angle is awkward, but her lips find his. Their kiss is slow, languid, all-encompassing, a melding of lips, a gentle slide of tongues. His hand glides under her pajama top and his fingers trace tantalizingly up across her stomach, along the curve below her breast. They sigh into each other, breaths mingling as the kiss ends. With the tip of one finger he begins circling her breast, gradually working his way to the center. It seems like it takes forever for his thumb to find her nipple, rubbing gently, lazily, back and forth. 

She closes her eyes, lets the sensations he’s creating wash over her, draws her nails softly across the back of his neck. His hand slides down under the waistband of her pajama bottoms. Two fingers ease inside her at the same moment his teeth graze against her pulse point and her breath catches, eyes flying open. She can feel his self-satisfied smirk against her, hear it in the delighted hum he presses into her neck. 

Not one to let his cockiness go unchecked, she moves her arm down, reaching back and finding his hip then sliding between them, her palm cupping him through the soft fabric of his pajama pants. His hips thrust into her touch his teeth biting down into the flesh of her neck, and she smiles. 

When she feels his breathing resume, she skims her fingernails up to his waistband and underneath ghosting back down the length of his arousal all the way to the tip, before letting her hand settle around him. His fingers take up a fluid, leisurely pace sliding in and out of her sex, and her gentle strokes up and down his stiffening cock fall into the same rhythm. 

Somehow, he maintains the measured speed he’s set stoking her arousal exponentially with each touch of his lips against the over sensitized flesh of her neck, each glide of his fingers in, each brush of his thumb against her clit. It’s her that breaks, her that reaches for the waistband of his pajamas and shoves them down past his hips letting him figure out how to get them off while she kicks hers to the foot of the bed. 

And then he’s there behind her, his hand on her thigh sliding it up and over his hip, his length nestling between her legs. Her hand grips his ass as he pushes into her with a delicious slowness. For long moments, their tempo is unhurried, his chest against her back, hot puffs of his breath tickling her ear, his fingers a counterpoint at her center. Her name becomes his mantra, a whispered groan with each exhale. 

His initial restraint had surprised her a bit, but the fact that his determination to maintain it has only strengthened has her stunned. She’s never seen him this intent, this deliberate with anything. It’s like he’s cherishing her, savoring every sensation and it’s been so long since she’s felt anything even close to this. Being on the receiving end of Roman Roy’s singular focus is a heady feeling, one that threatens to engulf her at any second, so instead she focuses on the physical sensations smoldering throughout her body, the pounding of her heart, the way her breath comes out of her in heavy, ragged huffs, the flush of arousal spreading across her skin. 

An electrifying heat builds deep within her, but even more overwhelming is the warmth flooding her soul at the way he’s touching her, the care, the tenderness. She’s swept up in a swirling mass of desire, affection, yearning for something she’s too afraid to name. It’s almost too much, the emotions too powerful. The pace of his driving cock finally accelerates, the pressure of his fingers increases, and the combined sensation sends her spiraling over the edge with a hoarse strangled sounding “Rome.” With few quick thrusts, he’s right behind her.

As soon as his mind kicks back into gear and breathing doesn’t require all his attention, a wave of concern washes over him. “Are you okay?”

Her eyes squeeze shut, her throat constricting with emotion. All she can manage is a nod. She doesn’t trust herself to speak, doesn’t know what words might come spilling out. Instead she reaches her hand up, her fingers caressing his face. 

He takes a deep breath, like he’s preparing himself. “I… I want you to know that I…” 

She rolls over, her fingers landing on his lips with a “Shh,” before covering them with her own in a smoldering kiss. She knows him so well. Knows he’s going to make some big messy, barely coherent declaration of love or worse, another marriage proposal and she just can’t let him. Not now. It’s too soon. Her emotions too raw. When she ends the kiss, she pulls back enough to focus on his eyes and gives him a tiny smile. “Good morning.” 

“Morning,” he replies quietly, gazing at her with that look of wonder again. 

She’s been alone for over a decade and that’s been fine. She’s come to appreciate it, enjoy it even. Not having to check her schedule with anyone. No one worrying if she’s at the office too late, or skips dinner, or has a second martini before bed. But these last days with Roman, it would be so easy to get used to this. Then again, she knows this is not normal this heightened state of existence, not knowing what the next minute will hold. Soon, they’ll go back home, things will settle down, and this time will end. Needing a little space, she rolls onto her back.

He scrunches up the pillows from his side of the bed propping himself up on them sideways to look down at her. He studies her face, tries to read her expression. But she’s the fucking sphinx, and he’s incapable of solving her riddle. It’s clear she doesn’t want to talk and he can understand that to a certain extent. He rolls onto his back and lifts her hand lacing their fingers together. She squeezes his hand and sighs. 

It’s a struggle, but he lets the silence linger between them for long moments. On an exhale, his thoughts finally come tumbling out. “Let’s start every morning, just like this, from now on.” 

“Every morning?” she asks, a smile dancing in her voice. 

“Yes, every morning,” he smugly assures her. 

She turns her head to look at him, one eyebrow cocked. “And what makes you think you’ll be in my bed every morning?” 

“What makes you think you won’t be in mine?” he counters glibly.

Her eyebrow climbs higher on her forehead and how is that even possible? But, there’s a smile quirking the corner of her mouth and her eyes are brighter, so he knows he’s accomplished at least that much. 

“I should get up.” She sits up and leans against the headboard. “I need to take a shower.” With a sigh she slides her legs off the bed and stands, the top to her pajamas floating along the very tops of her thighs. 

His eyes light up and he starts to get up. “Shower? Sounds hot.” 

“You can’t possibly be serious. You’ve seen the size of that shower. It’s barely bigger than a phone booth.” 

“All the more fun.” He flashes a grin and starts to crawl across the bed toward her.

“No.”

“Aw come on,” he’s up on his knees now, gesturing at himself, “I’m so, so dirty.” 

“Yes, but yours is not the kind of dirt that can be washed off,” she volleys back, her voice pitched low and throaty. “You could always go back to your own cabin.” 

“Nah, I brought clean clothes and everything.” He gestures to a pile of clothes on the dresser by the door then plops down Indian style in the middle of the bed. “I’ll just wait until you’re done.” He’s come to really enjoy watching the transformation of Gerri Kellman, the way the sleepy-eyed woman with sexily mussed hair becomes the polished, put together professional, and he’s not about to miss it. 

“Suit yourself,” she shrugs and heads into the bathroom. 

He waits until he hears the shower turn on, waits a few minutes more, then ventures into the bathroom. The glass door is fogged up with steam, but he can see her shape, the outline of her breasts, arms up, fingers working against her scalp. He watches transfixed as she rinses out her hair and shuts off the water.

Without even looking in his direction, she says, “You may as well make yourself useful and hand me a robe.” 

He’s momentarily startled, “Uh… yeah…” then reaches to the hook on the door and passes her the robe. 

She slides it on then leans over and squeezes water out of her hair then grabs a towel and twists it up into a turban. Stepping out of the shower, she gestures for him to walk by, “All yours.” As he passes her, she swats him playfully on the ass and he jumps letting out a yelp. 

When he emerges from the shower, she’s standing with one foot up on the closed toilet lid applying lotion to her leg. Still dripping water all over the floor, he wraps himself around her. 

Gerri shakes her head as Roman wipes his face back and forth against her terrycloth covered back. “You know there’s another robe.” 

“I like this way better.” Over her shoulder he can see her rolling her eyes and he squeezes her tighter, plants a kiss on her neck, then steps back away from her to wrap a towel around his waist. 

When he looks back, she’s taken the towel off her head and he’s transfixed by what he sees. Her hair is a mass of corkscrew curls and she’s blotting water from them in sections. He’s never stopped to think that her hair didn’t always look the way he’s used to seeing it, styled, sleek and smooth. Sometimes when it’s longer he’s seen her wear it in large curls, but this tumble of golden spirals, this is something new. “Your hair,” he gushes in wonder. 

“What about it?” she asks preparing herself for the inevitable smart ass remark he’s bound to make. 

“It’s curly,” he says still stunned, like she’s kept some secret from him. 

“Yeah, so, go ahead make whatever joke it is you want to make, though I’m sure it won’t be original. I’ve heard them all.” 

“No joke,” he declares. “It’s fucking gorgeous.” 

She turns to look at him not quite believing he’s sincere. 

He steps closer, his hand reaching out and catching hold of a curl between his thumb and forefinger. “Why don’t you wear it like this?” 

She quirks a face at him, “It’s not professional.” 

“Fuck professional, its glorious.” 

His eyes roam over her and she can feel her face flushing under the scrutiny as she looks down. She doesn’t have any make up on yet, the lighting in the bathroom is bright and she’s sure every flaw is on full display, the dark circles under her eyes, the lines at the corners, the loose skin of her neck that she really does need to find time to do something about. 

“Why didn’t I know you have curly hair?” he asks quietly. 

When her eyes find his again, he’s smiling at her sadly. “Nobody’s seen it like this for decades.” 

“You keep so much of the real you hidden,” he says the realization hitting him as the words come out. 

“I guess I do,” she agrees. “It goes with the territory.” 

“What do you do to it… you know… to make it look like usual?” he asks with genuine curiosity. 

“Blow-dryer usually then flat iron, depends on my mood and how much time I have,” she explains with a shrug still puzzled by his interest. 

“I wanna watch,” he says stepping back away from her and leaning against the doorway. His expression has changed, it’s like he’s become an observer removed from what’s going on in front of him. 

“Okay,” she draws out the word, still unsure exactly what he finds so fascinating. With a shrug, she pulls the hair dryer out of the cabinet and goes about her usual routine. Roman stays in the doorway watching every pass she makes with the round brush through her hair. When she shuts off the dryer, he’s still standing there in the same place. She’s amazed that the simple act of blow drying her hair has kept him captivated this long. 

“You do that every fucking day?” he asks in astonishment. 

“No, not every day. I wouldn’t have any hair left if I did that every day,” she explains with a dry chuckle. “Thankfully it lasts a couple of days, unless there’s a lot of humidity.” She puts the hair dryer away, drops her brush back into her bag on the counter and turns to see him still leaning in the doorway. With a shooing motion she walks toward him. “Why don’t you go get dressed. I have to finish getting ready. This is not a spectator sport.”

“Awww… come on,” he whines. 

“You’ve watched enough for one morning. I can’t have you learning all my secrets.” 

As Roman backs out the room he leans toward her for a kiss. Gerri closes the door with a chuckle instead. With nothing better to do, he does what he’s told and gets dressed, then plops himself sideways in the chair, legs dangling over the armrest to wait. 

A little while later she comes out, dressed in natural colored linen pants and a form fitting navy top. He’s on his feet the moment he sees her, stepping directly in her path to the dresser. 

She stops and looks up at him. “Yes?”

“You owe me a kiss.” 

“Oh, I do. Do I?” 

“Mm hmm.” 

“And why is that?” 

“Because, you fucking closed the door in my face. Not nice, Ger, not fucking nice at all.” 

Her mouth opens slightly, eyebrows rising as she looks at him, “Where did you ever get the idea that I was nice?” 

His arms wind around her and he pulls her close. “Oh, I don’t know. I’d say in my personal experience, you’ve been very nice to me on several occasions now.” 

“Several?” she questions. “Getting a little ahead of yourself, aren’t you?” 

“Perhaps my count goes back farther than yours. I’d start at least with our phone calls.” 

“Those were decidedly not nice,” she says pointedly, a smile tugging at the corners of her mouth. “But I suppose in your warped little mind you might have construed them as nice, not so much for me, but I see your point.” 

“Ouch,” he lifts one hand to his heart, “that stings.” 

She shrugs, “You’ll live,” then leans forward and kisses him tenderly. “Why don’t you get going? I’ll be there soon.” 

“Hell no. I’m not going out there to face those monsters alone.” 

“Those monsters are largely your family.” She steps away from him and begins selecting jewelry to go with her outfit. 

“That’s how I know what monsters they are. You’re the one that’s always in the office early.” Roman follows her wrapping his arms around her waist and pulling her toward him. “It makes much more sense for you to go out there first.” He leans in and kisses her ear as she tries to secure an earring. “If you’re worried about us appearing together again this morning, I’ll hang back here.”

Finally getting her earring on, she leans away from him to do the other one. When he switches sides with her, she lets out an annoyed sigh. “I’m not ready yet. You are.” Dipping her head away from him, she secures the second earring. Then she twists toward him and drops her necklace in his hand before spinning back around, lifting her hair up off her neck. “Here, try being helpful instead of being a pain in my ass.” 

“Mmm… and what a lovely ass it is,” he quips looking down and sliding his hand over the feature in question then drapes the necklace around her and secures the clasp murmuring “See, I can be helpful,” into the back of her neck with a kiss. 

“Thank you.” Dropping her hair, she turns to face him. Then she takes hold of his shoulders and spins him toward the door with a not so gentle shove. “Now go. I’ll be ten minutes.” 

“Fine. Fine.” He reluctantly agrees. “But if you’re one fucking minute longer, I’m coming right back here and we’re not leaving this cabin the rest of the day.” 

“Oh please.” She quirks an eyebrow at him. 

“Fine, off to the Logan Roy fuck-o-rama.”

“Order me an omelet.” 

He pauses at the door. “Do you know what time Ken’s thing is?” 

Her reply is quick, because of course she knows. “It’s scheduled for eleven a.m. New York time, so 6 o’clock here.” She must have gotten in touch with New York last night while he’d been with his siblings.

“Fuck, this is going to be a long day.” 

“I know.” 

With a sigh he walks out the door.


	11. We haven’t really talked since that giant fucking Kendall sized pile of shit hit the fan this afternoon.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> First of all my heartfelt apologies to all of you readers for the extended break between chapters that was never my intention. I have been so close to being done with these last few chapters for so long it's hard to imagine. What I did not anticipate was just how hard work was going to rear up and completely slap me in the face or for how many weeks on end that would be the case. 
> 
> Second, as with every other chapter, I owe a tremendous debt to my friend lontanissima for her continuous support, encouragement, suggestions, patience and most importantly friendship! Thank you.

Gerri couldn’t help thinking she should have known that Kendall would again betray his father. They all should have. It was almost biblical. Three times he had betrayed him. Three times and now the cock was crowing. Hellfire and damnation were about to rain down on the heads of Waystar RoyCo as never before. Perhaps they deserved it. It’s not like they hadn’t all committed sins in the name of Logan Roy or Waystar or both. 

No one knew exactly which heads would roll besides Logan’s but his was now assured. The board was already clambering for his resignation, which would be announced as soon as they touched down back in New York. Suddenly her name on that piece of paper had meaning. She’d fielded numerous calls from board members and major shareholders who were already backing her appointment as interim CEO. 

This hadn’t ever been her plan. General Council yes. That was the plan. Before she and Baird had even married, he’d prepared her to eventually succeed him and she had. There wasn’t anything beyond that for her, or so she’d always thought. Dance the dance. Play the game. Keep on your toes. Make sure Logan and the company come out of every negotiation on top, every scandal untraceable. Maneuver a way out of every takeover attempt. Beat back every enemy. 

No one anticipated the enemy would come from within. The first attempt had made sense. Logan was ill. He wasn’t making good business decisions, wasn’t operating in the best interest of the company. The bear hug, that had caught her off guard. Coming after his own father in a hostile takeover backed by his biggest enemy. Logan had managed to get his son back in line within twenty-four hours, which may have ended the fight, but it certainly hadn’t ended the war. 

Already battling on two fronts with Sandy and Stewy on one side gunning for the company and Eavis and his cronies demanding scalps on the other, Kendall had just exploded a bomb in the middle of it all. Now there would be criminal charges and she couldn’t see a way out. 

They’d spent the time between Kendall’s announcement and now in constant talks, planning media strategies, Karolina securing interviews for Shiv and Roman and multiple other Waystar employees, damage control, if there was any to be had. Logan was convinced he would still be controlling things even after he resigned, that she’d just be a puppet with him pulling the strings. She wasn’t putting up a fight, not yet, not when they still had hours of travel ahead of them locked in a flying tin can. 

She could tell by the look on Roman’s face that he was still in shock. He was occasionally throwing out ideas with everyone else, some of them even good ideas , but there was a haunted, vacant look in his eyes from time to time that she’s never seen before and it scares her. There hadn’t been a moment alone for them to talk since he’d run out of the room to get to Logan while Ken was still speaking. 

Logan had finally talked himself out and moved up to the front of the plane to sit alone. Her head was pounding. Granted she’d had a few drinks in the intervening hours, but she’d long ago switched to water. The artificial light is making her headache worse. Taking advantage of the momentary break, she leans back in her seat and closes her eyes. Maybe if she just can just sit quietly for a few minutes, it will go away. 

Roman’s attention has been glued to her all day. She’s been right there in the eye of the storm everyone buzzing around her and Logan equally. It’s all but a formality at this point. She’s already the _acting_ CEO and she’s a master at the game, playing his father, letting him think that he’s still in control. All the while, she’s been making hundreds of decisions right there in front of them while his father rants out his frustrations. The calls are coming in nonstop, he’s lost track at this point, entertainment, publishing, parks, her entire legal department, Karolina alone has called it seems like a hundred times. 

Now that his father seems to have hit the wall, she’s finally getting a break. He sees his chance and before anyone else can bother her, he slouches down next to her on the sofa. She doesn’t react, so she must know it’s him. He slides right next to her, their thighs touching. “You should eat something.” 

“Not really hungry,” she sighs still not venturing to open her eyes. 

“Let me have them fix you something,” he offers, “Turkey sandwich? Grilled salmon? Grilled cheese?” that last one in a joking tone. 

She shakes her head.

“Hey, I know you have a headache,” he counters quietly. “You’ve been doing that squinty thing with your eyes for like the past hour.”

“Yeah,” she agrees. 

“So, eat. Take something,” he reasons as her eyes open a fraction to give him an annoyed look. “I don’t want to see,” he wiggles his fingers at her eyes, “that look anymore, okay? It makes _my_ head hurt.” 

Blinking, she gazes at him through squinting eyes, just like he accused her of having. “Okay, you’re right. I should eat something.” 

“Thank you,” he says with a smile. “Now, what would madam like?” 

“A turkey sandwich is fine.” 

“Coming right up. One turkey sandwich.” 

Roman returns a couple minutes later placing a glass of orange juice and a bottle of Excedrin in front of her then drops down on the couch sitting sideways, one leg bent under the other, arm across the back stretched out towards her. 

“Orange juice?” She says quizzically, looking at him sideways. 

“It’ll raise your blood sugar,” he explains eyeing her expectantly. “Drink it.”

“What are you, a doctor now?” She asks sarcastically while opening the bottle of pills  
and popping three in her mouth downing them with the juice. “Thank you.” 

“You’re welcome.” 

The crew member appears depositing the turkey sandwich along with a selection of fruit, a salad, a glass of water, and a piece of chocolate cake next to the orange juice. She gestures to the pill bottle and asks, “All done with these?” 

“Yes, thank you,” Roman answers because Gerri is already mid bite of the turkey sandwich. 

“So, not hungry, I see?” he teases as she chews. 

She swallows, follows it with a sip of the water. “I guess I was hungry after all,” she offers adding, “thank you,” with a soft smile. “Chocolate cake though?” 

“That’s mine, you keep your grabby acting CEO hands off of it.” Roman replies though it sits there untouched as he watches with satisfaction while Gerri eats the whole sandwich, along with some of the fruit and most of the salad. 

When she sits back from the table, he shifts closer. “We haven’t really talked since that giant fucking Kendall sized pile of shit hit the fan this afternoon.” 

“No,” she sighs, “we haven’t.” 

Leaning into her, his voice a strained whisper, “I just… I want… fuck… I don’t know what’s going to happen when we land, but I don’t want to lose this.” He makes a tiny gesture between them. 

He’s so open with his feelings, much more open that she is able to be. She knows he’s sincere, but he’s still Roman. He seems to be changing, focusing, growing up some, but, it’s hard to say how long that focus may last especially now that an all-out Roy family civil war has been declared in front of the world on live TV. She isn’t deluding herself that this is some long-term relationship for him. Eventually he’ll tire of her and move on to someone else, someone his own age or even younger. For now though, they’re a team. She angles her head toward him directing her words right at him. “I don’t know what’s going to happen either. It’s going to be crazy for a while, maybe longer than a while, but that’s not going to change anything, not for me.” 

He nods slowly taking it in, locking his eyes on hers. “Okay.” 

“You haven’t eaten your cake,” she notices. 

“I lied. It’s totally for you,” he admits quickly. 

With a fond smile, she picks up the extra fork on the table and hands it to him. “Split it with me?” 

~*~*~*~

Waiting in the blessedly soundproof backseat of her town car while her driver sees to it that her bags get loaded into the trunk, Gerri scrolls through the new batch of emails that have appeared on her phone just in the time it took for her to walk from the plane. She’s deep into clicking out a reply to the third most urgent message when unexpectedly the door opens and Roman slides into the seat next to her. “Hey, mind if I bum a ride?”

She eyes him suspiciously over the rim of her glasses. “I don’t know that that’s the best idea right now.” 

“Why not? No one’s paying any attention.” He gestures to the line of cars pulling out ahead of them, “Shiv’s worried Dad’s about to keel over with another stroke at any minute, so she and Tom are riding with him. I swear Karl and Frank fucking evaporated into thin air the instant they opened the doors, and Connor and Willa are… well fucking Connor and Willa… so they don’t even count.” 

“Has it not occurred to you that there may be paparazzi camped out on our doorsteps?” 

The engine starts with a barely perceptible hum and the car begins to move. 

“Fuck. No. I didn’t even think of that,” he rolls his eyes at her. “Yes. I thought of that. Jesus, give me some credit woman. I have a plan.” 

She crosses her arms and leans back, tries to look stern, “Okay then, I’m listening. What’s your big plan?” He can see that one corner of her mouth is pulled back a little. She’s trying not to smile. 

“Well it’s basically a two-part plan. First, my building has a private underground garage complete with security guards. Well paid security guards, too. Won’t be a photographer in sight.” 

“Okay,” she sighs tiredly, “So, I get to wait while my driver drops you off first. How chivalrous. Gee thanks for jumping in my car to hitch a ride back to the city.” 

He leans close to her, his hand landing on her thigh, his mouth nearly grazing her ear as he says, “You don’t have to wait.” His lips press a kiss against the skin below her ear and he feels her sigh, her hand sliding against the back of his head, her perfectly manicured nails scratching lightly against his scalp as her body sinks further into the plush leather seat. “You could just,” he murmurs between kisses, “stay at my place… for the night.” 

Damn, he’s uncovered one of her few weaknesses and is using it to his advantage at every opportunity. “Mmm,” she hums out without even realizing. It would be so easy just to let him persuade her, the idea of delaying reality for another night is oh so tempting, but she’s not that person, never has been. She doesn’t have that luxury. “As much as I might enjoy that…” 

He lifts his head away from her neck questioning indignantly, “Might?” 

She chuckles lightly and strokes the side of his face. “Okay, as much as I would enjoy that…”

He smiles and leans into her touch a moment then suddenly his lips are back on her neck, gliding down to her collarbone. “Oh, you would definitely enjoy that.” 

She lets out a little moan when his kisses reach the center of her neck, then angles her body away from him just a fraction. “I really do need to go home.” 

His eyes lock on her, questioning, “But do you? Do you really?” and then he’s there, leaning in and kissing her with so much passion. His hand sliding across her stomach and around to her back pulling her against him. Before she knows it, she’s sucking his tongue deeper into her mouth and both of her hands are clutching at his back. 

Their heated kiss inevitably tapers off, both in need of a break to catch their breath. Roman looks down at Gerri, her eyes remain closed, her expression content. He can’t help reaching up and gently stroking the side of her face, his thumb sliding across her slightly swollen lips and he grins knowing he’s the one that’s put this look on her face. 

Her eyes slowly blink open, in the dim light of the car the tinted windows make the city lights appear faint around them, but she can still see the smug look on his face. “Wipe that smirk of your face, Casanova. You’re not that good. Not yet anyway. We’ve worked too hard to throw it all away now. There’s work to do.

“Tonight?”

“Yes, tonight. There are emails to answer, talking points to review, a press release to approve, and a press conference in the morning, I don’t even remember how many interviews we have booked between us. We can’t screw up now.” 

He flops back against the seat on his side of the car. “Meaning I can’t screw up, because you never fucking screw up.” 

She twists sideways to look at him. “I say what I mean. You know that. I said _we_ and I mean _we_. There’s a lot riding on this, you’re future for one. My entire professional life for another. Nothing I’ve ever done up to this point will matter. My whole career will be judged on what I do from here on out. I’ve never been under this much scrutiny before.”

“I get it,” he sighs, but when he sees the incredulous look in her face he pulls his leg up under him facing her. “I do. And I know that you will fucking kill it as CEO. Seriously, there is no one more qualified to do this job.” He flashes his most flirtatious smile. “If you recall, I offered it to you myself once.” 

Her eyes light up at the memory. “Oh, I recall.”

He’s been curious about this for a while, decides to finally ask, “Why did you turn it down then? Was it because of the debt?” 

“That…” she agrees, then continues, “and I knew that if I took it there would be no going back. Once Logan recovered, he wouldn’t just let me go back to being General Council. I’d be seen as too much of a threat.” 

“And now?” he questions, his eyes focused on her intently. 

“Now, there’s no other choice. We have to make it work. We have to ensure that once Logan is out, he stays out.” 

Roman barks out a forced laugh. “I think the courts will take care of that now.” 

“Nothing is guaranteed, especially if it goes to court and a jury trial.” 

“I’m sure you have something up your sleeve,” he counters. When she doesn’t answer right away, he starts to worry, “Don’t you?” 

Her expression turns positively Machiavellian. “I have a few ideas. They’ll take some time to put in motion, but you’re right. I do have a few cards up my sleeve.” 

He leans in again, his face just inches from hers, his hand sliding up the outside of her thigh. “None of this means you have to go home. You can review emails and press statements and whatever the fuck at my place.” 

“I could,” she concedes, “but I won’t.” 

“Ahh… don’t trust yourself around me, that it?” he asks, his hand sliding under her ass, pulling her towards him, “I’m just too distracting.”

Her hand lands on his shoulder as she smiles at him. “You are _very_ distracting.” 

She closes her eyes as he leans in, softly bringing their mouths together, his fingers sliding into her hair pulling it off her face before he leans back with a few final quick kisses. “Okay, okay. You go home. I’ll see you tomorrow.” 

“You will,” she agrees softly, her eyes shining brightly as the view from the George Washington Bridge slides by outside the window. 

“Can we… maybe… have dinner or something tomorrow?” he asks tentatively. 

Her smile fades, knowing she’s about to disappoint him. “Rome… I’m sure it’s going to be a long day. I’ll probably still be at the office at dinner time. You will too.” 

“Okay then, when?” he tries not to sound petulant, needy, but mostly fails. 

Gerri lets out a somewhat defeated sigh. “I don’t know. Things are going to be pretty busy for a while,” she explains, but leans down a bit to catch his eye as she adds “but we’ll figure something out.” 

“I guess I’ll live with that… for now…” He drops his head to her shoulder his hand on her knee. “Well, at least I get to spend a bit more time alone with you. That’s what I really wanted.” 

Gerri slides her hand into his and he laces their fingers together, picks up the discarded phone from her lap and drops it into the side pocket of her handbag. She slips down a little into the soft cushions of the back seat getting more comfortable, as her head comes to rest against his. “I guess spending these last few minutes alone together isn’t a completely horrible idea.” 

~*~*~*~


	12. Today Waystar, tomorrow utter fucking world domination

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter is dedicated to the incomparable lontanissima. I cannot thank you enough for all your support, encouragement, hand holding, psychotherapy chat sessions, and amazing friendship! Truly most of this story would not exist without you!
> 
> *~*~*~* Merry Christmas *~*~*~*

It’s been six months since the yacht. Six months of seemingly endless days and working every weekend to try to stabilize the teetering Jenga tower that was Waystar RoyCo. There was still an ongoing criminal investigation, but when a congressional intern was found dead in a prominent senator’s office, the focus of the news cycle had sifted. Revenue in parks was at an all-time high, entertainment was cresting a wave of hugely successful blockbuster franchises and Waystar stock was back near its peak. The shareholders and Wall Street were happy.

Their lives had settled into something of a pattern. They share dinner most nights, usually in her office, rarely alone. There are endless meetings and strategy sessions that drag deep into the night, spill over into the weekends, turning all the days into a blur.

When too many late nights string together and she’s tired, he has occasionally been able to coax her into staying at his place since it’s closer to the office. On those nights he does what he can to get her to relax, puts on a classic movie, rubs her feet – turns out she’s a total whore for a good foot massage, or she takes a long soak in his bathtub. Her favorite thing at his apartment is his massive jacuzzi tub. One of these days maybe she’ll finally let him join her.

Weekends are his favorite. Saturdays if they’re both in town, they can usually get out of the office at a reasonable hour, order take out, and head to her apartment. Sundays, if they’re together, they tend to linger in bed, have a late brunch delivered from the restaurant down the street.

There are days he doesn’t see her at all, where he has to be out of the office for interviews or out of town all together trying to placate some disgruntled regional official or shareholder. He hates those days, but they usually end with a phone call, Gerri sleepily listening to him download her on what’s happened or telling him what he did and didn’t do right in the interview, how he can spin their new management in a better way. Karolina tells him a lot of the same stuff, but somehow when Gerri says it, it makes more sense. If the time difference is too much, she’s been known to fall asleep and he’ll stay on the phone just listening to the sounds of her breathing.

It’s a Wednesday, and lately that’s meant a typically long day, but tonight is special. Gerri is no longer the interim CEO. She was officially voted into the position at this morning’s board meeting with unanimous support. She’d accepted his invitation to a late supper at his apartment to celebrate, and he had arranged for her favorite meal from her favorite restaurant, lobster bucatini. Now that things were beginning to calm down, he even got her to agree to leave the office before eight o’clock.

At precisely seven thirty, he heads over to her office. She’s meeting with Frank and several company attorneys along with Moira, their new general council. Seeing that particular group in her office always makes him a little queasy, but she gives him that flash of a smile that she gets when she’s in a good mood and waves him in, so he knows everything is okay.

“Roman, we were just going over the new anti-harassment policies and reporting procedures for cruises and I think we should implement it companywide.”

“So, I’m guessing, ‘Don’t demand a blowjob or you’ll be fired,’ is at the top of the list?”

She cocks her eyebrow at him over her glasses. “Followed closely by ‘Don’t say the word blowjob in the workplace.’”

“Ahh… got it. We’re going puritan here. Do I need to get some of those spiffy wide white collars? Shoes with giant buckles on them?”

“Might be a nice look on you.” Frank says standing up. “We’re pretty much done here, and I for one want to get out of here for a change.

“Works for me.” Moira says standing up, her staff following suit. “We’ll have the full policy and implementation strategy for you by Friday.”

“Thank you all,” Gerri replies as the attorneys leave.

Frank hangs back. “Congratulations again, Madam CEO. Can I take you out for drinks to celebrate, maybe grab something to eat?”

She gives Frank what looks like a disappointed smile. “I wish I could, but I’m just exhausted. I think I’m going to go straight home and go to bed.”

“Another time,” Frank suggests.

“Definitely,” she assures Frank as he leaves and they’re finally alone.

Roman steps into her path as she heads to her desk. “Going straight home to bed?”

“I didn’t say whose home,” she quips softly her eyes dancing with mischief.

“Or whose bed,” he adds with a smirk.

“Or whose bed,” she agrees.

Her gaze locks on his intently as the temperature in the room gets decidedly warmer both of them growing uncomfortable, but it’s him that breaks their standoff. “You’re so fucking hot.”

She laughs at that. “No, it’s just been what… a week?”

“Nine days,” he almost whines.

“That long?” she teases, retrieving her purse from the credenza behind her desk.

“Forever.”

His hand briefly hovers near the small of her back before he quickly shoves it into his pocket. On the way out, Gerri says goodnight to her assistant, but Roman catches the look she’s giving them, like she knows something.

“I think your assistant is onto us,” he blurts out as soon as the elevator doors close, his eyes watching her keenly for any hint of reaction.

“Oh, she figured us out weeks ago, or at least she got suspicious then.” Her voice is much calmer than he would have expected considering she’s just said that someone else knows about them. Someone besides her driver, because what are they going to do take cabs? Reggie has worked for her for years, she trusts him.

“And you’re okay with that?” he asks in disbelief.

She sighs out a deep breath. “What am I going to do, fire her? That’s not going to give her incentive to keep her mouth shut. Besides she’s competent, the first halfway decent assistant I’ve had in nearly a decade.” Suddenly she thinks maybe he’s the one that’s not okay with it. “Are you worried?”

“About Carla? No. What do I care? I’d take out an ad on the fucking Super Bowl, if you’d let me.”

Chuckling at him, she asks, “And what exactly would this ad say? ‘Self-entitled dilletante, Roman Roy is boning Waystar RoyCo CEO Gerri Kellman,’ wouldn’t make it past the FCC.”

“Oh, I love that,” he says with a laugh. “I’m going get that embroidered on a pillow. No, I was thinking more along the lines of ‘sex goddess Gerri Kellman, stone cold killer bitch CEO of Waystar RoyCo, rumored to marry metro poser yacht snot and perpetual fuckup Roman Roy. Is this the making of Manhattan’s newest power couple?’” This gets him an eyeroll as the elevator opens to the garage.

“Power couple?” she asks stepping toward the waiting car. He’s done this a handful of times now, tossing marriage out into the middle of a conversation in an offhanded way. She’s not completely sure how much of it is just his odd sense of humor, or if he’s testing the waters to see how she’ll react. So far, she hasn’t really reacted. He’s moved on to something else quickly enough, but the fact that he keeps doing it is beginning to make her think there might be some seriousness behind all the bullshit.

She spends the ride to his apartment replying to emails on her phone hoping to knock as much as possible off her to do list before they arrive, knows he wants to take the evening to celebrate. He answers a few emails too, sends a text to let the staff know he’s on the way so they can finish up and clear out.

Inside his penthouse, she sees the fireplace already casting a warm glow around the living room, notices scattered arrangements of peonies here and there. He’d recently discovered those were her favorite flowers and seems to have tapped into an endless supply, fresh arrangements just appearing in her apartment and now his. She goes straight to the nearest one and leans over the coffee table to inhale their scent. “These are beautiful.”

“This is just the beginning,” he replies pouring two glass of champagne from the bottle chilling next to the flowers and hands one to her.

He raises his glass. “To you. Today Waystar, tomorrow utter fucking world domination.”

She offers him an amused smile. “Let’s take care of Waystar before you set your sites too big. We’re not actually out of the woods, yet.”

“Yeah, but we’re on the way. Those knuckle draggers running the investigation won’t find anything important.”

“Let’s hope,” she offers with a half-smile, half grimace before taking a sip of the champagne.

“No more work talk tonight. We’re taking the night off.”

“Are we now?”

“Yes.”

Her chin drops as she eyes him over the top of her glasses. “And here I thought as CEO I was the boss.”

“As CEO you are,” he shrugs as she cocks her head at him in question. “Who’m I fucking kidding? You’re always the boss, but tonight you are going to indulge me and let me pretend to be in charge for a little while,” he declares before quickly adding, “okay?”

“I suppose I could agree to that,” she replies with a shrug, though not completely certain what it is she’s agreeing to yet.

“Good.” He’s thrilled at her ready acceptance of the suggestion he’d thrown out offhandedly. “Are you hungry? Food’s all set up in the dining room,” he gestures with the hand still holding his champagne, “but if you want to wait…”

She grins wryly, her voice holding a playful challenge. “I thought you were in charge tonight.”

“Food it is then,” he decides quickly. “I think I’m going to enjoy this.”

Dinner is quiet. A reflection of the long hours they’d put in preparing for today’s presentation to the board. She’s learned that as much as Roman runs his mouth, he can be quiet at times when they’re together. It’s not always a good thing, but tonight it seems like he’s enjoying himself and not obsessing over something.

He watches as she finishes the last bite of her pasta and leans back with a contented look. “I ordered that Princess cake you like for dessert.”

She leans forward, her hand covering his on the table. “That sounds lovely, but I’m stuffed. Let’s save it for later.”

“Okay then… I uh… have something for you.” He rises stepping to the bank of built-in cabinets along one wall and returns holding a large red Cartier box.

“You didn’t have to get me anything.” She says as he hands her the present.

“I know, but I wanted to.” He drops back into his chair and leans forward onto the table eyes filled with eager anticipation.

Lifting the lid Gerri lets out a stunned gasp as she sees a strand of large Tahitian black pearls.

“You don’t have any already, do you?” he asks anxiously as soon as the box is opened. “I’ve never seen you wear black pearls.”

“I don’t,” she assures him still unable to tear her eyes from the striking necklace, her index finger delicately tracing the circumference. Finally, she lifts her eyes up to his. “Thank you. They’re breathtaking.”

“I thought about diamonds or sapphires or some sparkly shit like that, but then I figured you’d wear these more. You seem to really love your pearls.”

“I will definitely wear these,” she promises him, leaning over and pressing a tender kiss to his lips.

He takes hold of her arms and keeps her there, deepening the kiss, lifting his hand up to her face. The kiss quickly becomes a bit heated and the dining table isn’t exactly the most comfortable location for this activity. They both ease back on the kiss, bringing it back to something a bit more sedate before he pulls away slightly. “Ready for the next item on the agenda?”

With an indulgent smile, she replies, “Well, I guess you are still in charge.”

“Ah, yes,” He snaps his fingers, “I am. Good.” He stands up and holds his hand out to her. “Okay. Change of venue.”

Eyeing him warily she rises from her seat. “Okay.”

Silently he leads her down the hall, through the master bedroom and into the bathroom then turns on the faucet for the tub. As he adds scented bath oil to the water and lights the candles he’d gotten for her last month, Gerri reaches into what’s become her drawer. She pulls out a claw clip and fastens her hair up, then removes her pearl earrings and deposits them along with her watch and other jewelry into a glass tray, and closes the drawer.

When he’s done, he steps over to her with a grin resting his hands on her hips. “Tonight, you’re sharing. No more hogging the fancy bathtub all to yourself.”

In reply, she begins unbuttoning his shirt. “Don’t get used to me being this much of a pushover.”

Reaching a hand up to caress her neck, he slides his thumb along her jaw. “Never.”

They undress each other and Roman gets in first then helps her into the tub. Once they’ve settled down in the water, her between his legs leaning back against him he asks, “How does this thing even work?”

“It’s your tub,” she replies with a chuckle.

“Yeah, but I’ve never used it before,” he answers as his arms snake around her waist.

Without looking, she reaches her hand out to the controls turning on the whirlpool jets and the water starts to swirl around them.

“Oh fuck, I see why you love this thing so much.”

“The massage jets are stronger, if you want.”

“This is good for now,” he murmurs against her ear then settles in to enjoy feel of her naked body against his, the hot water gently moving around them, calming his mind. After a while he looks down noticing her eyes are closed. “Hey, don’t fall asleep on me.”

“Not sleeping, just enjoying this,” she says softly. “If I’d known you’d behave yourself, I would have let you in here sooner.”

“Oh, I can behave myself,” he says sliding one hand down to her leg and back up the inside, coming to a stop at the very top of her thigh, “if that’s what you really want.”

It’s not, not tonight. Her body is already responding without conscious thought, a sigh escaping her throat, her legs opening wider.

“What was that you said about not being a pushover?” His fingers are teasing her now, slowly dancing against her, but avoiding her most sensitive areas.

She can hear the gloating in his voice. “I said don’t get used to it, and I stand by that. Tonight, is an aberration.”

He props his head on her shoulder. “Mmm…. sure… keep telling yourself that. You know you want it just as much as I do,” he taunts as he slides one hand up stopping just under her breast.

“I can go without… sex” her breath catches in her throat on the last word as the fingers of his other hand trail ever closer to her center.

He chuckles against the soft skin of her neck. “So can I. I just don’t want to anymore. Do you?”

“What do you think?” Twisting sideways she lifts her hand to his face and pulls his mouth to hers. Her tongue traces across his lips until he opens his mouth. Once he does, she deepens the kiss. He wasn’t the only one that had been counting the days.

Unhurried but still heated their kisses begin to build slowly, but the angle is awkward, and her neck is protesting. She’s finally forced to turn around, dropping back against him, both of their breathing ragged.

He signs, kisses her temple then announces, “Water’s getting cold,” as his hands come up to her shoulders. “I think it’s time we moved this into the bedroom.” He gently eases her away from him and stands stepping out of the tub.

She eyes him as he wraps a towel around his waist then picks up another and opens it up, holding it out for her. “And what exactly do you have in mind?”

Watching as she slowly stands and steps out of the tub, he pauses to take in the way the water makes her skin shimmer in the candlelight. It’s long enough that when his gaze rises back to her face, her expression is one of bemused tolerance. He wraps her in the big plush towel and then pulls her against him snaking his arms around her. “Just a little idea I haven’t been able to get out of my head since Singapore.”

“Oh really?” Her arms trapped inside the towel, all she’s able to do is look up at him her tone a provocative sort of intrigued. “Idea or fantasy?”

“Fantasy might be a more apt description.”

“Mm hmm…”

He begins rubbing her arms with the towel drying her off. “You know, I told you about it in one of our _calls_.”

She lets out a light sort of tinkling laugh at that. “You do realize we had several _calls_ while you were on that trip.”

“We did, but, if you think about it,” he focuses an intense gaze on her, “this one _might_ stand out to you.” After a moment, he sees the blush rising in her cheeks, blooming out across her chest. “Ahh, the lady does remember.”

“I remember _everything_.”

He smiles at the taunt in her voice “So do I.” Planting a quick kiss to her lips, he picks up the candles from around the room and carries them into the darkened bedroom.

Gerri tucks the towel in place around her chest and follows him pausing in the doorway. “You’re very into the aesthetics tonight, aren’t you?”

Roman puts the last candle on the nightstand and turns to her. “What? A guy can’t set a mood?”

Stepping over to the bed and sitting down in front of him, Gerri lifts his hand to her lips and kisses the back of his fingers. “It’s very romantic. I feel incredibly spoiled tonight.”

“Good,” he says on an exhale his free hand reaching up to undo her hair. Dropping the plastic clip onto the nightstand behind him without taking his eyes off of her, he slides both hands into the silky blonde waves. “Tonight is all about you.”

Her eyes close at the thought, her mouth pressing into a tight line and Roman can’t resist tracing the pad of his thumb across first her bottom lip then the top. When his thumb reaches the center of her upper lip, she captures it in her mouth drawing a surprised gasp from him.

“Ah, ah, ah,” he scolds with a grin. “None of that. You lie back and behave yourself.”

She giggles around his thumb, actually, giggles and he’s never heard anything like it. The sound sends his heart soaring as she scoots back onto the bed to lie down against the pillows.

He climbs onto the upholstered bench at the foot of the bed on his hands and knees then ducks his head and kisses the bottom of her right foot. Starting at her heel, then the arch, and she’s giggling again. He moves on to the ball of her foot and the end of her big toe. “My God, you were serious.”

“I’m always… serious,” he replies between kisses across the top of her foot. When he reaches her ankle, drawing a circle around it with his tongue, her giggles end with a gasp. Only partially suppressing a self-satisfied chuckle, he resumes his kisses up the inside of her calf and she lets out a sort of purring hum.

He enjoys the catch in her breath, when he gently nips the back of her knee before easing his lips up the inside of her thigh until he’s halted by a barrier of thick terrycloth. He rises up on his knees over her and takes hold of the towel slowly pulling it apart from the bottom up. With a light tug, the material across her breasts gives way and she’s completely bare before him. He gazes at her for a long moment before ducking back down and resuming his kisses up the top of her thigh, across her hip bone, up her side.

When he reaches the underside of her breast, her arms lift up suddenly, fingers sinking into the short hair at the back of his head and he pulls away from her, his eyes drilling into her. “No touching, Geraldine.”

“Don’t call me that,” she almost whines, her face scrunched up in annoyance, which he finds insanely adorable.

“I won’t, just as long as you keep your hands to yourself.” She nods her head in agreement and with that he resumes his ministrations slowly working his way to the middle of her breast.

It’s torture, lying here not being able to touch him. Delicious torture, but still, a form of torture none the less. She can recall every word of what he’d said in that phone call. How he’d described what he would do to her when he got home. The details of his fantasy so specific, so sensual, she was touching herself before she even realized what was happening. He’d talked her through one of the most erotic experiences of her life and here he was acting out the fantasy she hadn’t even known she had before he articulated it.

When he pulls her nipple into his mouth, she fists her hands in the duvet in an effort to keep them at her sides, her back arching off the bed. Between the sensations coursing through her body and the effort to keep from touching him, she’s practically panting. She had no idea it would be so hard to lie here and do nothing. Then again, she’s never been good at doing nothing.

His lips blaze a path up her chest, across her collar bone and to the juncture between her neck and her shoulder. When he reaches her face, her bottom lip is numb from being crushed between her teeth, her eyes screwed shut in an effort to keep her focus on not touching him. She can feel the backs of his fingers against her cheek and her eyes flutter open to meet his worried gaze.

“You okay?”

“I’m good. It’s just harder than I thought it would be, not touching you.”

“We don’t have to –”

“No,” she cuts him off, “I want to.”

He kisses her cheeks, then her nose, then slants his mouth against hers. She sighs into the kiss as he deepens it, slides his tongue against hers, the tip grazing the roof of her mouth. This time she stops herself just as her fingertips touch the sides of his face and thrusts her hands back against the bed breaking the kiss.

“If you’re not enjoying this.”

“I am, I promise.”

“How ‘bout this, you can touch while we’re kissing,” he offers as small compromise, “but only while we’re kissing.”

As soon as the words are out of his mouth, she’s ripping the towel from his waist and molding her hands against his ass, gripping tightly. His surprised laugh is cut off when she lifts her head up and captures his lips in a heated kiss her fingers sliding up his back and across his shoulders.

He indulges her for a time, their tongues tangling. Then he eases back, his lips sliding slowly, sensuously against hers as he lifts her hands off of him one at a time and rests them joined with his on the pillow next to her head.

She’s mesmerized by the deliberate way he moves to kissing along the line of her jaw, around to her hair line, and down behind her ear until he lands at that spot that he discovered those long months ago on the yacht. He concentrates his attentions there stopping her breath with an audible gasp that changes course halfway through becoming a blissful sigh. She can feel his smile against her skin before he sucks the flesh into his mouth pulling a low hum from the back of her throat, but that’s followed closely with a warning “Don’t.” She knows her tone is anything but threatening, but he knows that she’s serious, at least he better know she’s serious.

As much as he longs to leave his mark on her, to see it there tomorrow when she’s sitting at the head of the boardroom table in all her power and glory, he stops. Instead, he continues his quest to worship her body from head to toe. Trailing his lips down her neck, across her shoulder and down her arm then up to her fingertips. He takes the time to suck each digit into his mouth before moving on.

Gerri gives herself over to the sensations that he’s creating within her. The way he’s taking the time to appreciate every inch of her body. She could easily be self-conscious, but she’s not, not with him, not with the way he looks at her like someone who’s gone days without out water that just found an oasis in the desert. She’s never been the focus of attention this intently thorough and it’s a bit overwhelming.

Her head is swimming, her skin tingling, little bursts of something almost electric wherever his lips touch her flesh. Her heart is pulsing, sending blood coursing through her veins in an ever-increasing tempo, but what’s more surprising than all the rest is the way she feels. It’s like a piece she didn’t know was missing has just been fitted into place and the picture it creates is something vastly different than she ever would have imagined. It’s more than her career, even as CEO of Waystar, it’s on a different level than any of her other relationships, even her marriage. It’s like she’s gotten a glimpse at the complete picture of herself for the first time and he’s there, right at the center of it all.

So inside her own head, caught up in the overall experience she’s somehow surprised when his quest lands at her core, his lips and tongue just _there_. A startled little “Oh,” escapes from her the back of her throat sounding foreign to her own ears. His pace is unhurried, but even though he hasn’t done this more than a handful of times, he’s a quick study when he wants to be, and he learned just what she needs. Her hands fist in the duvet, knuckles white, breath coming out in quick pants until she forgets to breathe at all.

He smiles against her inner thigh as her body begins to relax around him, her muscles releasing the tension he’d created. He revels in the fact that he’s come to know her body so well, what she needs, where and how she likes to be touched. He’s still learning, picked up a few new tidbits of information just tonight that he’s filing away for the future, but he’s determined to be the world’s foremost expert on Gerri Kellman or die trying.

He’s kissing his way over her stomach, up her sternum. When she opens her eyes, she finds him hovering over her looking so proud of himself her heart swells with affection.

She grants him a satiated, beatific smile and it feels like he imagines poor people must feel when they win the lottery.

Reaching out she stops herself just before her hand comes in contact with his face.

At his nod, her fingers settle along his hairline, her thumb stroking across his lips. “You’ve gotten very good at that,” she says her voice low and breathy.

“Just a part of the service here at Casa di Roma. Stay more often and you may discover even more bonus options.”

She chuckles, deep and throaty at that. “Is that what that was? A bonus.” Her thumb grazes his bottom lip and he captures it between his teeth.

“Mm Hmm…” he hums around her thumb before letting it go. “Become a frequent guest and you may earn some special perks. Every tenth orgasm, you get one free.”

“Well then,” she grins up at him, “I think I must be due.”

“Sure thing, ma’am,” he teases sifting his hips against hers. “Just need to swipe your card.”

“That’s not where I keep my card.” She’s beginning to laugh before she finishes the words, but the laugh turns into a sudden intake of breath as he slides into her.

“You sure?” he asks pushing further in drawing a sigh from her lips.

Her eyes close, fingers griping his biceps. “Right now, I’m not sure of anything.”

He sets a slow pace, wants to draw out every moment, savor every sigh, commit it all to memory because it feels like tonight is a turning point of some kind. He locks eyes with her as their breath mingles, tries to convey his emotions with his gaze, pour them into the motion of their bodies.

Later, as he lies draped across her chest, her fingers stroking up and down his back she begins to speak. “I’ve been thinking about what you said earlier, about Carla, and about all the other people who must know about us too, drivers, doormen, household staff. We’re not exactly being discrete.” She feels him tense against her.

“And…” he asks bracing himself but not moving from his spot, cheek pressed against her breast.

Her hand slides up to his hair, nails scratching lightly against his scalp. “I think I’m going to schedule some time with Karolina, bring her in, figure out a game plan.”

“I like the sound of this,” he says pushing himself up to lie against the headboard looking down at her.

“I’m not suggesting we go with your Super Bowl idea or even that we do anything different than we are now. We just need to be ready with a strategy for this, have someone keeping an eye out for any rumors or leaks.”

He reaches out and takes her hand, lacing their fingers together. “Sounds good to me. Do you want me there for the meeting with Karolina?”

“God, no,” she answers. “It’s going to be hard enough talking to her about my personal life without you there making crude jokes.”

“What?” he demands in mock indignation, brings their joined hands to clutch his chest “I can behave.”

“Can you?” she questions with a raised eyebrow, flashing him a look that would be over the rim of her glasses, if she were wearing them that is.

It only succeeds in making him laugh. “Probably?”

“Let’s not risk it. I’ll let you know what we come up with.”

“Works for me.”

When she unsuccessfully tries to hide a yawn, he reaches past her to turn off the light then settles against the pillows and pulls her to lie alongside him. “Let’s try to get some sleep. You know, it’s way past bedtime for multinational CEOs.”

She chuckles sleepily into his side. “Oh really? Learn that in management training, did you?”

“Mm hm…” he says his lips pressed against her forehead, “Best thing I ever did that. Learned some of my best moves there. Made me the man I am today.”

“I should find your teacher,” she signs, “Give ‘em a promotion.”

“No need,” he offers hugging her against him more tightly, “She’s already running the fucking joint.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you to everyone who has commented, left kudos, or just read and hopefully enjoyed this story. I'm sorry this last chapter was so long in coming. 
> 
> I hope everyone has a Merry Christmas wherever you find yourself during this crazy year.


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